


The Last Survivor

by Missjlh



Series: The Imposters [2]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Bitter!Vasco, De Sardet/Constantin, De Sardet/Constantin Critical, F/M, M/M, Post-Bad Ending, Post-Canon, Regret, Star Wars Homage, Suicidal Ideation, Vasco takes on a Protege
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missjlh/pseuds/Missjlh
Summary: 25 years later Vasco is convinced to return to Tír Fradí to participate in a final battle meant to free the Islanders from the imposter gods.Vasco, still mourning the fate of his minundhanem, resolves to rectify his previous failures by killing De Sardet and freeing the nadaig that was once his love.Also known as: the Star Wars/Greedfall crossover featuring Darth Vader and Palpatine as semi-incestuous lovers who live strangely domestic lives as gods in the hollowed out corpse of the island’s previous god.
Relationships: Eseld/Aidan, Siora/Vasco (GreedFall)
Series: The Imposters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014711
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. His Niece

“Please save us, Captain Vasco.” The woman who so resembles the woman he still loves all these decades later stands before him, pleading for help. Help that he can no longer give. 

For years he prepared for a fight against De Sardet and Constantin. He’s fantasized about watching the life leave De Sardet’s eyes. But he’s too old, too broken and too unworthy to be a saviour. 

“No.” Without another word he turns and wanders back into the woods near his cabin. 

“Captain, please! My _Màtir_ sent me. She told me joining the Nauts would keep me safe and that I could find you and bring you home.”

“I am home,” he calls out. His cabin may be tiny, unassuming and out in the middle of nowhere but it’s his. This is all he has left.

“Can you not have more than one home? You lived on Tír Fradí. Fought to protect it. They’ve stolen our culture from us. Few become _Doneigad_ for fear of becoming their guardians. My twin sister Bladnid... she’s trained for years but has been unable to go through with the bonding ceremony for that very reason. People think one day she could be High Queen but not so long as those two remain in power. High King Ullan was the first to fall at their feet, out of ambition and self-preservation.” 

He turns and looks at her and she stops in her tracks. “Look at me. I haven’t fought anything more dangerous than a wild boar in decades, I’m old, pathetic and no warrior. Your mother should have sent someone two decades ago when I still had anger running through my veins.”

This doesn’t dissuade the young woman. “You know them. You know how to beat them. My mother leads the Doneia Esgregaw. We’ve built an army of like-minded people - both islanders and the few surviving _renaigse_ who could not escape on a ship. Many clans have sided with them out of fear but we can convince them to fight back. We need you. You’ll give people hope.”

“A bullet to the head kills as well as anything else. There, you have your solution. Can you please leave me alone now?” He turns and starts to wander off and the sound of twigs crunching under foot tells him she’s still following. 

“The great Captain Vasco. The sole survivor of Dorhagenedu; hiding in the woods, licking his wounds,” the woman shouts mockingly. “You stood up to De Sardet once. And now you’re too much of a coward to do so again.” She walks up to him and spits at his feet. “ _Màtir_ made you family and when we call for you, you ignore us. She shouldn’t have bothered.” 

Siora’s niece storms away and the guilt he’s held for years bubbles up, nearly overwhelming him. He abandoned Siora to her fate. He lived that day when he should have died. Constantin still lives because he didn’t go after him. Her people suffer because of his failures. “Wait.” The woman stops and turns around. “Does she still live?” 

“Who? My mother? I told you; she leads the Doneia Esgregaw.” 

“No. Siora. She gave herself to En on mil Frichtimen and became corrupted by De Sardet and Constantin.” 

The woman’s face falls. “We’ve tried to give her peace. She’s their personal guard and nobody has been able to get close enough.” 

“Which is she?” The very question becomes should have asked Siora decades ago. Information he could have used to save her and die at her side. To have gone out as a hero instead of living as a coward. 

“ _Nadaig Frasamen_.” 

“Do you know how to fight?” 

“The basics. I’m no warrior, unlike my mother and Bladnid. I’m a Sea Given sailor and have been for the last five years. I also know a fair bit about plants.” 

He sighs and says his next words with great reluctance. “I’ll come with you. I should have died that day so I may as well put things right and die as I was supposed to.” 

The woman breaks out into a grin. “I am on a ship full of volunteers. Mostly made up of my people; a lot of us joined the Nauts as a means to escape the cruel gods. We’re all prepared to fight. Strictly off-book; our next voyage is a scouting mission for the Congregation according to the contract. The plan is to sneak you aboard as a passenger so the admiral doesn’t become suspicious.” 

“And when does it leave?” 

“A month from now.” 

This woman is a well of enthusiastic energy now that he’s agreed to return to Tír Fradí with her. “I just realized I’ve volunteered to die for you and you’ve yet to even give me your name.” 

The woman looks him in the eye and gives him a sad smile. “My name is Siora.” 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Eseld named her daughter after her beloved sister. But the news hits him hard; he falls to his knees, covering his face with his hands, breathing heavily in an attempt to stem the grief overwhelming him. 

A hand rests on his shoulder. “You still love my aunt.” 

“I never stopped,” he chokes out. “My heart is hers until my final breath.” 

“ _Màtir_ has told me stories of her. How brave she was. And how deeply compassionate. She says you’re her _minundhanem_.” 

He nods, unable to speak. Loving Siora was the best thing he’s done with his life. 

“We will free her from them, Uncle Vasco. Whatever remains of the person she was will no longer be under their control. And at the same time we will free my people.”


	2. A Native and a Naut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up on Tír Fradí under the thumb of the imposter gods was not easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: reference to dying by suicide.

Auntie Siora is a part of their family. _Màtir_ tells her and Bladnid stories about her lost aunt. And the Naut who holds her heart. 

“They were both brave and good; fighting against De Sardet the imposter even as he did everything he could to hurt our people, even before killing En on mil Frichtimen. One day Uncle Vasco will return and together, we will all free our home,” _Màtir_ says as her and Bladnid sit, wide-eyed on their bedroll. An innocent sense of wonder only children can have. 

Looking back, her parents tried their best to make her and Bladnid’s childhood idyllic, turning their frequent late night escapes into a game. “We’re moving to somewhere new and thought it’d be fun to do it in the dark,” _Tad_ says, a false smile plastered on his face. Her parents didn’t want their children to be frightened. Not yet. 

Childhood is for learning and fun, her parents tell them. Let the grown ups worry about the hard stuff. Like the corrupted beasts that regularly attack their home. Soil so poisoned nothing will ever grow in it. Whole _renaigse_ villages that are nothing more than abandoned ruins littered with bones. The deep, overwhelming sadness carried by the elders of the village, some of whom once lived on the continent. 

She has nightmares about the mysterious gods that serve as the enemy of her people. But her parents don’t tell them anything more. “When you two are older there will be too much time for you to worry. Enjoy your innocence,” _Màtir_ says. 

It’s _Tad_ who is around the most as they grow up. As the leader of a rebellion, _Màtir_ travels frequently. Once she’s old enough to recognize the danger her mother is in, she worries every time she leaves.

As her and Bladnid grew older they come to know that when they run it is because the imposters discovered the location of the Doneia Esgregaw camp. Still, they pretend to accept it as a game, if only to comfort their guilt-stricken parents. 

Bladnid is a warrior and a healer. She wields a sword made for her by a blacksmith once from one of the _renaigse_ villages in one hand. Whenever she is able to bond with the island, she will be a skilled _doneigad_ and with the other hand she will wield magic meant to heal. To kill and save in equal measure.

Siora is not a warrior. Several have tried to teach her how to fight but she’s never been able to learn. “She’s quick, at least; that means she can run from a fight,” she hears her latest trainer tell _Màtir_. A blade or attack she can dodge but striking back? Beyond her. 

***

“I wish they could have had the childhood Siora and I had,” she hears _Màtir_ whisper one night. The night after her and Bladnid came across the body of another of their people stuck on a pike. A piece of parchment was nailed into the poor man’s sternum. 

One of those originally of the continent read the words aloud to the village. “For your attempt to assassinate your generous gods, this man has paid for your crime with his life.” 

Bladnid, who is stoic and frequently the less emotional of the two of them, vomited and cried. So today Siora was the strong one and comforted her sister. They sleep hand-in-hand. Only... she doesn’t sleep because whenever she closes her eyes she sees that poor man. She hopes his death was painless but knows that is a naive hope. The hope of someone who is still a child. 

The gods play with their kills before they’re granted the mercy of death. Whispers of Constantin’s lightning has reached her ears, despite the efforts of her parents to protect them. De Sardet is slightly less cruel, but fond of strangling his targets, apparently. 

It’s not the first time another has paid for the attempts made to kill De Sardet and Constantin. The next day _Màtir_ does her best to console the village. “We have survived worse. They have thrown famine at us by poisoning our soil, they have captured us, tortured us but we will never fall! This is our home and we will take it back!” 

Her and Bladnid are 17. Two weeks later, her parents sit down with the two of them. “Siora, we have an important mission for you. One that could help save our home.” 

“What is it?” She asks excitedly. They’ve never entrusted her with a mission before. 

Her parents look so sad. Defeated, almost. “We’d like you to volunteer to join the Nauts. You are young, strong and in good health. They will be happy to take on a volunteer like yourself,” _Tad_ says.

“But why? That means the island will no longer be my home? What did I do wrong? I want to stay and fight!” She can’t fight; she was never good at it. Tending to the plants in the village was always her preference. 

“We need you to find someone. It is... time we mount a proper fight. And to do that, there is someone who can help. Who is almost as motivated to end their lives as I am,” _Màtir_ tells her. 

“Uncle Vasco.” The mysterious lover of her aunt, who pleaded with _Màtir_ to flee to safety with him. Who has never returned to the island. Nobody knows where he is. 

“Yes. And you’ll be safer at sea. Here you and your sister are a target because you are our children. Bladnid can fight back...” 

“I cannot,” she finishes for _Màtir_. 

“I can join too. Let us be together,” Bladnid says as she holds her close. They are twins and shared _Màtir’s_ womb. Never have they been apart longer than a single day. What will she do without her other half? 

Her parents look even more guilty then. She doesn’t want Bladnid to leave, not when bonding to the island is something she’s trained for her whole life. Even if being separated from her means leaving half of herself behind. “You have a different path, Bladnid. This is mine. We will still see each other,” she says to her sister. 

The tattoo needle pushing through the flesh on her face stings but is something she endures with silence. Boarding the ship, she looks back at her family and waves, ready to embark on the most important mission of her life. 

***

Once she’s at open sea the world feels different. It is as if the wrongness is gone. The imposter gods have corrupted her home from soil to sky and for the first time she’s somewhere unsullied by them. 

She cries late one night. Part homesickness, part anger at what has been done to her home. A man named Javier finds her. “What’s the matter, Kid?” He asks as he sits on the deck next to her. 

“I’m angry. Now that I’m here I understand better than ever what those tyrants did to my land and my people. Everything out at sea feels like it should. It’s not broken and poisoned.” 

“I don’t know much about what happened there. Just that a lot of your people have volunteered. Sad state of affairs that is.” 

“I miss my family.” 

Javier looks uncomfortable for a moment before patting her on the knee. An awkward attempt at comfort. “At least you have a family to miss. I never knew mine and never will. But you’re part of another family now. We’re not so bad, y’know. Little gruff, and most of us don’t know a thing about magic but we’ll have your back.” 

The first time on the continent gives her nightmares. As they land in Sérène, the stench of the smoke makes her gag and she coughs until tears run down her face. “They burn the bodies,” Javier tells her. “It’s not as bad now as it was 15 years ago. A lot of the city has fallen from the malichor and those who haven’t are either at war or already dead on the battlefield.” 

Javier is kind enough to show her around and takes her for a drink at a place he calls a “Coin Tavern”. “Ever had a drink, Siora?” 

Her people rarely drink alcohol. She keeps the herb that acts as an intoxicant on hand and smokes it occasionally but that’s it. “I haven’t.” 

“Lemme get you an ale.” 

They sit down and a bartender with black marks on his face and clouded eyes makes her gasp. Why isn’t a healer looking him over? Javier notices her stares. “Man has the malichor. Still early, judging by how he is moving. I’m surprised we didn’t see the bodies of the dead and dying littering the streets.” 

The horror of it makes her curl in on herself. “I don’t like it here,” she says quietly. Javier gestures at the drink in front of her and she takes a sip. It’s bitter and lukewarm. 

“You can’t stand it, can you?” Javier looks at her, eyes glinting with amusement. She shakes her head and pushes it away. “I’ll gladly help you out with it,” he says, grabbing the mug. “Want to try something else? Their wine is shit now - grapes don’t grow here anymore, but it’ll get you drunk as good as anything else.” 

“I think I’ll pass.” If alcohol tastes bad then what is the point?  


Another thing she learns is that the people of Sérène are desperate. A small group of half-starved bandits tries to rob them and Javier handily defeats them with a few swings of his sword. “Poor fuckers,” he says as they walk back to port, “there’s not enough to eat so those who don’t fall to the malichor often starve.” 

After that she decides to stay close to port when they’re on the continent. That night she rolls herself a joint and smokes it while she sits at the edge of the pier. It’s a comfort and reminds her of home.

***

Life as a Naut comes naturally to her. Learning the various knots, how a ship works, and how to handle the sails - it’s as if she were born to do it. 

Quickly she finds herself outranking sailors older than her who have been in the guild since birth. She works harder and for longer hours than they do and her work ethic is noticed. Something that is not always a great way to ingratiate herself with her ship mates. Life is lonely a lot of the time, especially since she is frequently transferred to different ships. 

At night she remembers how _Tad_ taught her all about the plants of the island. Plenty of Nauts have taught her but none have taken her under their wing. 

She misses her family. Bladnid’s blunt honesty, _Tad’s_ gentle stoicism and _Màtir’s_ unwavering strength.

***

For years she asks people and nobody knows where Captain Vasco is. “Heard he’s dead. Gave himself a sea burial,” Javier says. 

“No, he singlehandedly attacked those gods on the island and was made an example of,” a woman by the name of Maria says. She knows for a fact that didn’t happen because her parents would have known of it. 

“He loved an Islander. Means he’s probably on your island raising a bunch of babes with her,” a woman - Alba, says. The image makes her lip tremble and she fights back tears. 

“Dammit Alba, now you’ve gone and upset the kid!” Javier says, giving her a pat on the back. 

“His _minundhanem_ was my aunt and namesake. Siora. She’s... gone.” She doesn’t want to explain that Auntie Siora is a corrupted _nadaig_. 

“What does _minundhanem_ mean?” Alba asks. 

“One who shares my mind. Soulmate.” 

“Shit. No wonder he sea buried himself,” Javier says, sounding glum. 

None of these tales are ones she believes. Until she sees his body personally or meets someone who watched him die, Captain Vasco is still alive and she will find him. 

“Why do you want to find him anyway?” Alba asks. 

“Because he’s my uncle. And my family needs his help.” 

The search continues. As a Naut, she’s learned how to read _renaigse_ words, which makes her hunt easier. She puts up posters in the village on their island during her leave. At taverns and in shops she asks after him. But nobody knows where he is. 

Five years later she finally gets the break she needs. On her new ship, the Don De Dieu, she asks around about Captain Vasco. Nobody knows where he is; most haven’t even heard of him. But then Captain Jonas asks her to come to his quarters after the evening meal. She doesn’t know the man and is wary of his request at first, standing nervously at the door after he invites her in. 

“I won’t hurt you, Siora. I was simply curious about your search. Why do you seek Captain Vasco?” 

“He’s my uncle. My _Màtir_ is the twin sister of his _minundhanem_.” 

Jonas sighs. “I knew him. He was my captain back when I was a cabin boy. Best captain I ever sailed with. We called him ‘the hardass with a heart of gold’. He expected a lot out of us but there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his crew. Just a damned decent man.”

She brightens. A lead! “You knew him? Is he still alive? Where is he?” 

Captain Jonas can hardly meet her eye. “Dorhagenedu broke him. He never talked to anyone about it but we all heard his screams at night. They gave him an official commendation for his bravery and offered him a promotion but once he got to our island he never left it. I can’t tell you if he’s still alive. Not for certain. It’s been a decade since I last saw him so he might have died in his cabin or out in the woods long ago.” 

“But I can look? You know where he lives?” She’s near bursting with excitement. Her uncle! She’s found him! 

“Take the path up to the highest cliff. His cabin is in the woods at the top. He’s likely... jumpy, so announce yourself as loudly as possible. Any particular reason you’re looking for him now?” 

This man knows about the battle Vasco survived. He must be aware of the state of the island and the need to liberate it. “My parents lead the clan of rebels fighting against the imposter gods. We need his help to defeat them.” 

“Thought that was the case,” Jonas says quietly. “I’ve sailed to Tír Fradí frequently over the years. Official Naut policy is not to get involved. But that’s bullshit. The last few years I’ve worked to build a very special crew.” 

Most of his crew are Sea Given Islanders. “You mean to lead a group of rebels to help the Doneia Esgregaw?” She says with wonder. 

“Yes. Find the captain when we make port on our island. Next voyage is supposed to be a scouting mission to Tír Fradí. Instead we’ll make landfall, go to your people and offer ourselves up to help in any way we can.” 

She gives him a wry smile. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” 

“I sailed with Javier years back. He told me who your parents were when I saw him in Sérène. I thought you’d make a good asset to the team; we do, after all, have the same goals,” he winks. 

Jonas is a _renaigse_. She doesn’t understand why he’s willing to put himself at risk to liberate a home that isn’t even his. 

“De Sardet wronged me decades ago,” Jonas explains. “Declined to save me after I was kidnapped by the people who gave birth to me. I had to shoot my way out of a cellar when I was only 16. Something like that makes you hold a grudge. It won’t be me that kills him but if I can do my part to stop his reign of terror then I will die a happy man.” 

They arrive on their island and Jonas has some final words of wisdom. “He is unlikely to be happy to see you; his heart has turned bitter after all of these years and he prefers to be alone,” he warns her. 

The path up to the top of the cliff is overgrown and she hacks through thick leaves and bamboo with a machete but eventually she makes it to the top. Deep in the woods sits a small cabin - likely a single room. The home of a man looking to escape the pain of the world around him. 

She takes a deep breath and knocks. No answer. Briefly she wonders if perhaps he’s died; he could have passed away years ago and none would know it, as Jonas had told her. Should she open the door? 

A voice, rough from disuse calls out and she nearly cheers. It’s him; it has to be! The man before her is not the young, handsome person described in the stories. His hair is grey and he sports a dishevelled and patchy beard. His age isn’t shocking in the least, but he no longer looks like the skilled fighter he once was. Instead, the man before her has given up. 

Still, she has her mission and he is a beacon of hope for the Doneia Esgregaw, so she offers him her sword and pleads for him to come and save her people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Javier is a minor character in my canon De Sardet’s story. He’s one of the crew members of the Sea Horse once her and Vasco take to the sea. 
> 
> Also, Jonas waiting patiently for his chance to get vengeance on De Sardet in his own way is deeply satisfying to me.


	3. Overdue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco gets to know his niece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: reference to past self-harm and suicide ideation.

At least his home is tidy, he thinks as he brings her inside. “You can take the bed. I’ll take the floor,” he says, pointing at the bed and Siora shakes her head rapidly. 

“No, I will not kick a man of... a man out of their bed!” She stammers. 

“A man of?” He raises his eyebrow. 

Obviously he knows what she was going to say. He’s old. But he’s spent plenty of time sleeping in less comfortable places than the floor of his shack so he’ll manage. Given the tight quarters on ships, particularly for young sailors, this could be the most comfortable bed she’s had in years. 

“Of such obvious wisdom.” 

He chuckles. “Good save. Take the damn bed; I remember what sleeping on a ship as a sailor was like.” 

“Are you sure?” She looks reluctant. 

He gives her a hard look. “I don’t do social niceties just for the sake of politeness. I say what I mean, even if it’s something you aren’t going to want to hear. Could be years before you sleep in a proper bed on a regular basis so you might as well enjoy it because in six months I’ll just be another set of bones wasting away.” 

“What a lovely picture you paint,” she mutters as she drops her bag on the bed. 

“So, how do you suggest we get acquainted? Shall I cook us a meal? Pull out a bottle of whiskey? Or do we sit awkwardly for the next month until we board your ship?” 

Siora reaches into her bag and pulls out a pipe. “I hate alcohol. But I have a stash of my own and I’m happy to share.” 

***

“You’re going to need to know how to fight,” he says to Siora as they sit in his cabin passing a pipe between each other. The pipe is full of a dried herb Siora had shared with him a few times back when they were on Tír Fradí - a mild intoxicant and apparently something that can be used to relieve pain. He’d enjoyed it then but, given that the plant doesn’t grow here, he hasn’t had it in 25 years. As the herb takes effect he notices that the aching in his back has eased. 

“I sail, I know plants and I’m decent at first aid. I’m aware I won’t be useful on the front lines but I can stand back and treat the wounded.” 

He takes the pipe from her and inhales deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling and handing it back to her. “And if De Sardet and Constantin send beasts after you? You can’t expect others to protect you. I can teach you to fight. Enough to defend yourself and stay alive until you can flee.” 

Siora looks at him and nods her head, wordlessly agreeing to his proposal. 

“Why didn’t you ever learn anyway? Your mother is an impressive warrior; I’m surprised she didn’t teach you.” 

“I take after my father. He’s the one who taught me much of what I know. People tried to teach me but it never stuck.” 

“What is your father’s name?” 

“Aidan. For a short time he was the _Doneigad_ of Wenshaveye. But when En on mil Frichtimen fell, many of his people surrendered. He chose not to because he knew the hearts of the new gods. So he joined the Doneia Esgregaw and him and _Màtir_ fell in love.” 

He met Aidan once and he seemed like a nice enough man. Someone who had to deal with De Sardet’s suspicion and cruelty after his cousin went missing. Aidan dealt with De Sardet with more patience and grace than he ever could. 

“You never learned to heal magically?” 

Siora gives him an incredulous look and suddenly he feels as if he’s asked her something foolish. “As I’ve told you, few bond to Tír Fradí, for fear of being called to become one of their corrupted guardians. I could not learn my father’s healing methods without bonding. Bladnid opted to train as my father’s _Voglendaig_ regardless; I studied the plants of the island. Once the gods are gone my sister will undergo her bonding ceremony.” 

“One of my companions was a botanist. She died the day of the battle. She had wanted to study alongside a _Doneigad_ named Dunncas.” 

“Dunncas was one of the first to fall I’m told. Murdered by the imposter gods.” 

Not a surprising thing. Not at all. They would have been foolish not to target Dunncas, who was a wise and well-respected man on the island. He hopes it was a quick end, at the very least. 

The herb has taken full effect and he finds himself feeling more relaxed than he’s been in years. “So this is a lesson from your father I imagine?” 

Siora shakes her head. “My mother. Her and my aunt smoked it together as teenagers. This isn’t the first time you’ve indulged.”

“And how do you know that?”

The woman smirks a little. “Because you didn’t cough and sputter when taking your first hit.”

He’ll concede that point. “After the coup, De Sardet realized that I couldn’t be trusted. That eventually I’d pull a knife on him or shoot him. I pulled a knife on him. Twice. But I didn’t kill him. I had the power to prevent decades of suffering and death but I didn’t.” 

Siora doesn’t look at him with the anger he deserves but with acceptance. “You couldn’t have known what was coming Uncle Vasco.” 

“I knew it was nothing good. There was never anything good with that man,” she hands him the pipe. “Anyways, De Sardet left Siora and I behind at the apartment most of the time. Occasionally we would go for hikes and she would dry this plant and we’d smoke it in the garden.” He smiles fondly at the memories running through his head. “It was nice. To have that time with her. We didn’t have long. We never would have had long enough but her fate is crueler than any I can imagine.” 

“When did you realize you loved her?” 

“Too late. It was never supposed to be love. Just sex. A release. She was bonded to her home and I was a man of the sea. By nature we were incompatible. Had I just ignored that basic fact I would have realized she was my _minundhanem_ far sooner than I did. I could have told her that I love her hundreds more times.” 

“But she knew how you felt in the end. That’s more than many ever get.” 

He remembers the tattoo Siora gave him. The one that means more to him than any of his others. “Has the written language of the _Doneigada_ been lost?” 

Siora shakes her head. “My father taught it to both of us, even though I should not have learned it. He said it was to ensure it survives. Many did the same with their children.” 

“Is your father still alive?” 

“Yes. My people have had many losses but so far my family has been fortunate.” 

“Do you have someone important to you?”

“A lover? No. I’ve had little time for romance and have served on three ships in five years. I’ve been on my current ship, the Don de Dieu for eight months now.” 

“Who is your captain?” 

“Captain Jonas.” 

He has to smile a little at that. “Good on him. Glad the lad had it in him to make captain. Haven’t seen him in at least a decade. He’s good to you?” 

“Yes. When I asked around about you he’s the one who told me where to find you.”

“Well that answers my next question, then. What fighting styles did people try to teach you?” 

She shrugs. “Sword? Big stick?” 

He gives her a blank stare and curses under his breath. This is evidently going to be more difficult than he thought. “What type of sword? Greatsword? Short sword? Rapier? Cutlass? Were you taught to wear heavy armour and how to endure a hit? Or how to be quick and nimble, avoiding your enemy’s strikes?” 

“Someone put me in heavy armour once and I could hardly move. I’m fast; when it became clear I couldn’t learn to fight I was taught how to dodge. And I don’t know what kind of sword! The sharp type?” 

This girl could have been much further ahead in her training had someone taken the damn time to figure out her strengths. “I can work with fast. That’s how I fight - I get in, hit my enemy and dodge their attacks. You’ll never be able to be properly armoured but if you’re doing it right you won’t take a hit at all. I’ll teach you to use a rapier - my favoured weapon and the sword you currently carry. And I’ll teach you how to shoot a pistol.” 

“My people have never liked to use guns. They are _renaigse_ weapons. Some have trained in the use of ranged weapons because few are able to fight with magic but it is not preferred.”

“You are a Naut and a Native now. Nauts know how to shoot, therefore I will teach you.” Vasco doesn’t mince words on the subject; this is a blind spot in her training and he will rectify it. 

“You won’t give up when you discover how bad I am at fighting?” She looks nervous; unwilling to get her hopes up that he’ll actually follow through and teach her.

“Little Siora, you’re going to war and to survive you need to know how to fight. Nobody is impossible to teach and I will not fail the way others in your life have failed you,” His heart is racing and his head swimming because his body is brimming with more energy than he’s felt in decades. 

He failed his _minundhanem_ ; he will not fail his niece. 

***

“Your grip and stance are off. Stand like that and you’ll leave yourself vulnerable,” he says to Siora. He raises his own blunted blade. “Again.” Siora strikes and he easily parries her blow and trips her, sending her flying. 

“That’s not fair,” she complains as she stands up and wipes the dirt off her clothes. 

It’s been two weeks and Siora has hardly made an improvement since their first lesson. He’s beginning to understand why she has not had extensive combat training. But he made her a promise and he will not give up on her. She will learn how to fight. 

“Life isn’t fair. Do you think De Sardet and Constantin will follow some pre-determined rules of engagement? Do you truly believe they defeated your god in a fair fight? The only people who fight fair are dead people. You’re unlikely to get good enough to beat someone in proper duel with the time we have. But I’m going to give you an advantage.” 

“And what would that be?” Siora asks, the frustration evident in her tone. 

“Come. Inside,” he says, turning and walking to his cabin without another word. Siora jogs after him. 

Once inside he unlocks a cabinet full of labelled vials. “What are these?” 

“Poisons. Many are my own invention. Top row come from the snakes around here. Not quite as deadly as some of the other ones but they’ll paralyze an enemy for a good while. Large enough dose will kill.”

He points at the next row. “Second row are the antidotes. Keep one on you in case you stick yourself. Third row is odourless and tasteless; good for sneaking into someone’s food. Been working on that formula for a good 15 years now. I’m going to teach you how to make these and all you’ll need is a single good hit to kill any creature or person who tries to kill you.” 

“This is a pretty morbid hobby, Uncle Vasco.” 

He gives her a stern glance. “Not a hobby.” 

“An obsession,” she corrects. 

She’s not wrong. Whenever he hasn’t thought of Siora or his failure to save her people, he’s thought of killing De Sardet. Always via poison, just as he initially planned to. 

“How do you know it’s tasteless?” 

He winces slightly; he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask him that. “I’ve tested it on myself a few times.” 

Siora’s eyes go wide. “And why in the hell would you do that?” 

“Because I needed to know it would work on people. Obviously it didn’t kill me; I always took the antidote before it knocked me out. It’s also been tested on a variety of animals living in the area. They fall asleep and never wake up. A painless end.”

The way he would have wanted to go if he had any right to a peaceful end. But he doesn’t.

Siora covers her mouth with her hand and looks away from him. “Fuck,” she whispers under her breath. 

He takes a vial from the third row and hands it to her. She takes it, but only after hesitating. “Slip that into De Sardet and Constantin’s wine and they’ll fall asleep and never wake up.” 

“Well the next time I have dinner with the gods I’ll bring a vial,” she deadpans. An attempt to lighten the heaviness that’s fallen between them. 

“It’s not something I ever expected to work on them. Their human supporters, perhaps. A kinder end than a blade to the gut. The last row is for them.” 

“And what is it?” 

“An extremely fast acting poison. Stops the heart in two minutes. As I told you, I pulled a knife on De Sardet twice. He never saw it but it was coated with this. That I didn’t stab him is only one of many regrets in my life. And a mistake I won’t make again.” 

“And who said you’ll be the one to kill De Sardet?” 

He looks her straight in the eye, wanting to make it clear that he is being entirely serious. That this is not a joke. “Me. Constantin can be handled by whomever gets to him first but De Sardet is mine. I owe him a death and it’s 25 years overdue.”


	4. Bonding and Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loïc De Sardet and Constantin begin their lives as gods and burn the cities to the ground.

It was to be the worst day of his life. But then it became the first day of the rest of his life alongside Constantin. 

All those who insisted Constantin must be killed for the betterment of the island and the world were wrong! He should have known his love had a plan the entire time. And it is a plan that allows something he never dared dream of: a life where they can live openly as husband and husband. 

The power of an entire island at their fingertips. This is what they have now. Constantin looks at him, triumph in his eyes and he extends his hand, calling to the beasts under his - no - their control. 

“Let’s end this embarrassing display, shall we, my lucky star?” 

He thinks of those down there fighting. Petrus and Aphra. They were his allies once. He respected them. Perhaps they will be smart enough to flee. “Make it quick; I grow tired of fighting,” he says. 

All he wants is to hide away with Constantin and rule from afar, just as this island’s weak former god once did. Only they won’t be weak. They are strong, and they are immortal and they are impossible to defeat. 

Constantin chuckles. “Unfortunately the fighting has just begun. The cities, the crown jewels of the continent will be levelled to the ground. Those who do not flee or bow before us will perish. And then, my beautiful Loïc, we shall be together always. Nobody will hurt us again.” 

Forever. Just him and Constantin. No longer will he have to endure tiring idiots at court or the dalliances Constantin had in order to draw attention away from their own love. “You mean it? Truly?” He never dared hope to marry him but now Constantin offers him forever. 

He unbinds Loïc’s hair and runs his fingers through it before leaning in to kiss him. A tender kiss. A promise. “We have forever. We need only build ourselves a home.” 

Their beasts and the corrupted _nadaig_ win the battle for them and they walk down the mountain past the carnage; the bodies of Natives and soldiers of San Matheus and their own downed beasts. Further down he finds Aphra and Petrus lying close together; they died fighting together. He sighs. 

Constantin places a hand on his back. “I’m sorry. But they made their choice.” 

“They should have run,” he says, voice thick with regret. “They were stupid.” 

There’s no sign of the Naut anywhere. Did he escape? The thought disappoints him a little. He imagines vines twisting up his body and around his neck, slowly choking the life out of him. 

And it would be slow. After all the irritation the Naut put him through, he doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death. “Should we ever find the Naut, I wish to deal with him, Darling.” 

Constantin just shakes his head. “I am still astounded you let him live as long as you did. Why did you not slit his throat? He’d have done the same to you.” 

“Because a man that pathetic was hardly worth the effort. No matter, he is gone; running like the coward he was.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he spies a _nadaig Frasamen_. With their enhanced powers he can see what the guardian once was. Its past. The emotions it once had. “Oh Constantin, I have a brilliant idea,” he whispers. 

“And that would be?” 

“A personal guard of our very own. One that must follow every order we give it. The Naut’s former love,” he says, pointing at the _nadaig_ and ordering it to come to them. 

The creature fights his order; he’ll give Siora credit for that. She has a strong will. But he wins in the end. And he always will. It stands before them, docile and defeated. “You will follow us, wherever we go and protect us from all who wish to harm us. Every. Single. Person. You will lay your life down for us if necessary. You are ours and you always will be.” 

For a strange moment he thinks he can see a glimmer of sadness and grief in the guardian’s eyes. But he must be imagining it - they no longer feel emotion as they are now. It is a monster that runs on instinct; nothing more. 

“Which city burns first?” Constantin asks him. 

“Hikmet. Because the Coin Guard tried to take you from me the day they attempted the coup,” he responds immediately.

Ullan tracks them down as they walk towards Hikmet and falls to his knees. “I offer you both my eternal service and devotion. My beloved gods.” 

“And your people?” Constantin asks. 

“Loyal. Those who speak ill of you will be put to death for treason.” 

Loïc has always recognized Ullan for what he is. Ullan is snake lurking in the bushes, waiting for an opportune moment. But a snake is weak. Easily squished if deemed a threat. 

Ullan is a snake. Him and Constantin are the boot hovering over him. 

“Your village will know nothing but prosperity for your loyalty, King Ullan. We will call for you when we have need of your assistance. You will serve us personally and act as our voice to the island.” Loïc tells Ullan. 

“I am yours, my lords.” 

“The man is not truly loyal; why did you spare him?” Constantin says with disgust. 

“Because he is weak. Because he is opportunistic. His true character is known to the people. Ullan will never be a man people rally behind. Let him pretend to worship us; he will give us whatever we desire so long as his village remains protected.” 

“He is from your mother’s village, is he not?” 

Loïc nods and thinks of Slàn; the only blood relative he has left. A woman who distrusts him. Who has no interest in a relationship with him. Still - does she live? Or was she torn apart by beasts? It shouldn’t matter to him - he only met her the one time, but it does. 

He wants some piece of his true mother to remain in this world. 

Constantin sees the thoughts warring within him. “Her fate doesn’t matter, my love. You have me. All we need is one another,” Constantin pats his cheek and he can’t help himself; he throws himself into Constantin’s arms. 

“I mourned you. While you slept at night in agony I would lie awake and watch, imagining a world where I’ve lost you. You... you are right. We have each other. I will never need to mourn you. And we will change everything. Together.” 

There is a piece of his mother still in this world. Him. And he will live forever. Constantin is right: Slàn’s fate does not matter. 

Holding him tightly, Constantin speaks, “Would you be my husband?” 

Words he never expected to ever be able to hear. Before this they could never have flaunted their love publicly. But now? Everyone will know that Loïc De Sardet loves Constantin d’Orsay. He brushes a kiss against Constantin’s lips. “I already am, Darling.” 

“If you say as such, then so you are my husband, Loïc.” 

“And you are my husband.” 

***

As they walk, their personal guard follows behind them. Its head bent down towards the ground. Broken. Tamed. 

“It is a novel thing, having a guardian at our side. I think I quite like it,” Constantin says. “It makes me feel even more powerful. What a marvellous idea, Loïc!” 

They approach Hikmet. As a city, Hikmet has been through much in the last year. Razed first by the Coin Guard and now it will be torn down, brick-by-brick by the island’s new gods. 

He will give Torsten some credit: the man knows when he’s lost. He surrenders to them and offers to pledge his loyalty. “My men are your soldiers,” he says, kneeling before them in the throne room. 

A generous offer. But, like Ullan, Torsten is also a snake. And Torsten is a snake that has bitten. A man who threatens Constantin’s life is not a man who gets to live. He looks to his husband. “Darling, do as you will,” he says to Constantin. 

Not that Constantin needed encouraging. With a flicker of his hand, bolts of lightning hit Torsten, the acrid smell of burning flesh filling the room. Torsten falls to the ground, dead, his final expression one of terror. “I quite like that little trick. You never told me how satisfying magic can be,” he says, little sparks of lightning dancing along his fingers. 

Truth be told Loïc prefers fighting with a sword. But now that the power of the island is at their disposal, magic is the more effective tool. Safer, as well. For them, anyway. They may be immortal and they may have unlimited power at their disposal but testing whether they could be brought back from death is something he would rather not have to do. “It is a useful skill.” 

“Limitless power,” Constantin says in wonder under his breath. “All who wronged us shall perish.” 

Citizens run from them as they leave the throne room - whether word has gotten out about their triumph or the Coin Guards have warned the citizens, Loïc does not know. But the only safety these people will find are on Naut ships, making them sitting ducks should they opt to act. “We should sink the Naut ships. Send them all to a watery grave,” Constantin says. 

“Not yet. They’re running. Let them return to the continent where they’ll die a slow death.” 

Show those of the island that their gods can be merciful when they choose to be. To the citizens, that is; not the Coin Guards who followed Torsten. They are slaughtered on sight. 

All save one. A young man, maybe 18 years of age drops to his knees. “My life in exchange for information. Please, your highnesses,” he begs, tears streaming down his face. 

“And what will you do with your life?” Constantin asks him. 

“Return to Sérène. I swear, I’ll never pick up a sword again. I’ll stock shelves in a shop, I’ll work in someone’s home - anything if it means I don’t have to kill another. Please don’t kill me.” 

“What information?” Loïc asks. 

“About a secret laboratory. Where a man named Asili conducted horrible experiments. Asili died in the coup but his work remains and it will be of personal interest to you both.” 

“Take us to the lab and if we deem it significant, you will go directly to the port and leave on the first ship that sails,” he says to the man who nods vigorously. “Drop your weapons,” he says. The man’s sword and gun fall to the ground and the three of them leave for this secret lab. 

The stench of the lab is horrible and they walk past a pit full of the charred remains of corpses. “Apparently the guards did not see fit to give those people a proper burial,” Constantin says, sounding unsurprised by the matter. 

It occurs to Loïc as they walk that this man could be taking them into a trap. Something that would once concern him. But now that he’s a god; a man who can suffocate or rip apart a body by conjuring vines from the ground with a mere thought, the idea of a trap is little more than an amusement. People will try to kill them and they will fail. 

They’re led upstairs to a room. The floors are caked with dried blood, there are restraints on the walls, and surgical tools on the tables. With trembling hands, the man gives Constantin a letter. 

He sees the fury on Constantin’s face as his eyes wander over the page. “What is it, Darling?” 

Constantin clenches his fist and the young man drops to the ground, his body twitching as he dies, sparks of lightning crackling over burned skin. Wordlessly he hands the letter over and he reads it. 

“This Asili had people... poison us?” He says with a gasp. “He’s the reason you caught the malichor!” 

“And this guard knew and declined to inform us of this fact.” Constantin shoots lightning at the stained wooden operating tables and they’re set alight. “Hikmet and its people are beyond saving. We burn it all and we burn it now,” he says, walking out of the room, shooting lightning as he walks. Loïc conjures vines to topple wooden crates and walls, fuelling the flames that are rapidly growing behind them. Flames that match the fury he feels building in his chest. 

Outside Constantin fires indiscriminately at buildings, and people, uncaring what is hit. “It’s more fun when they’re trying to escape!” He shouts with almost mad glee. “They tried to kill me but all they did was make me stronger. And the games of the continent will never be played again!” 

“No, they won’t, Darling,” he says as he watches the carnage, sick satisfaction churning within him. He fuels the flames Constantin sparks and impales a man who thought to run at Constantin with a sword drawn. The man stands in the centre of the street, a thick branch through his chest. A warning and a demonstration of the fate that is to come for every citizen of Hikmet. 

Thick smoke fills the air as the city burns, their eyes stinging. Coughing, the two of them make their way to the port where two ships are rapidly boarding passengers. “Rip the ships apart,” Constantin says. “Send them all to the bottom of the sea. Those who supported these vile acts and the Nauts that would allow them to escape.” 

The earth cracks as thick vines shoot into the air towards the ship. There are shrieks of horror, from both people on the ships and those still on the island who fall to their deaths as the earth swallows them up. The vines wrap around the ships and all he needs is to clench his fist and watch with satisfaction as the ships are ripped apart in front of them like a child’s toy, cargo and bodies falling into the sea. 

Constantin fires bolts of lightning - perhaps at would-be attackers? Loïc was so focused on watching the ships sink that what is happening around him is lost. 

“Such small, pathetic people,” Constantin says. 

“This is justice!” He calls to the people in the port, trapped between their gods and the merciless sea, weeping in fear. “One of your own attempted to lay waste to our lives and it is you who will pay his price. Let all who hear of this know that this is what will happen when your gods are crossed!” 

A few flee, but only because they allow them. How can the other people on this island be warned about the dangers of going against their gods if there is no one still alive to spread the word? 

***

“Allow the citizens to surrender or flee on the Naut ships. We must show generosity,” he says to Constantin as they walk through San Matheus, standing tall; every bit the gods they are. 

Its citizens did not experiment on them; they do not need to burn alongside their city. After setting fire to the city they hike up a nearby hill and watch from afar as the fire lays waste to San Matheus. “This is how it should be; they’re so fond of burning people,” he says to Constantin, who lifts his hand to his lips and kisses it. “Would you make love? Here, as the flames cleanse this place of the continent’s poisoned practices?” 

For the first time in weeks Constantin looks vulnerable. Self-conscious. “I am not what I once was. The malichor...” 

They’ve been intimate only a few times since Constantin’s diagnosis. Much of the time he was simply too ill and the few times he felt well enough, he declined to undress completely. And then after bonding to the island he pulled away from him for so long...

“You are not,” Loïc agrees, taking his hand, “you are so much more. You are my husband. Our very souls are bound together for eternity and we rule as gods. Darling, do you not understand how immensely beautiful you are to me? Please don’t be ashamed of your scars.” 

Constantin grasps Loïc’s face with both his hands and kisses him. “My Loïc. Let us consummate our eternity together as the flames wash the evil from this city.” 

New Sérène is almost a ghost town when they arrive to dismantle it. “Apparently your Naut gave them enough warning,” Constantin says. 

Loïc scoffs. “He’s not my Naut. He’s _a_ Naut and a damned idiot at that. Not someone worth concerning ourselves over.”

“A shame, really. I’d been looking forward to seeing the faces of those who mocked me at court while I lit them up,” Constantin says. “My father hurt you,” he says, changing the subject. 

Loïc just shakes his head. “No. It was you he hurt. He abused you, neglected you and placed unfair expectations on you. I learned from him. It’s because of what I learned that we are able to bring about this change. Destroy those who use, who poison and who benefit from the old world.”

“He did not need to hit you in order to hurt you. My Loïc is not the Loïc that the world sees.” 

“Everything I did, I did for us! To protect you!” 

Constantin takes his hand. “I know, my lucky star. And now it is my turn to protect you. And to do that, I will ensure my father never harms you again.” 

A _nadaig Meneimen_ appears before them after Constantin whistles. “Go to Sérène, break into the palace and gather my father, Prince Adrien d’Orsay. Bring him back there. He must answer for the crimes he’s committed against my husband,” Constantin says and the guardian flies off towards the horizon. “Electricity is too kind for him,” he says, as if speaking to Loïc about the weather. “This time of year a good bonfire is always lovely. We’ll order the villages to come and watch. Let it be a warning.” 

It unsettles him, for the first time, how calmly Constantin speaks of torturing his father. He looks over at him. “Why not just have the _nadaig_ drop him over the ocean? Drown him?” 

“Because he hurt you. And nobody hurts what is mine.” 

Loïc forces himself to smile. “Naturally, Darling.” 

The cities are rubble and some of the Islanders rebel. Dunncas leads them at first. But a _Doneigad_ , regardless of how powerful they are, is no match for them. 

Dunncas lies before him, wounded and at their mercy. Briefly he considers forcing him to turn and become one of their guardians. But ultimately he is a merciful god. So he kills Dunncas almost instantly with a flick of his wrist that sends razor sharp vines his way, ripping through this body like dozens of steel blades. 

His people fall to their knees in surrender, some of them sobbing at the sight of their fallen leader. 

One more village recognizes the might of their gods.


	5. Return to Tír Fradí

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco returns to the island after 25 years away.

“Captain Vasco!” Jonas exclaims when he boards the ship. “Good to see you!” 

“It’s not ‘Captain’, Captain Jonas. Hasn’t been for 25 years now.”

Can’t be a captain if you abandon the sea. He’s just a man. And not much of a man. 

Jonas looks slightly uncomfortable. “It’s good to see you, regardless. Going to take us three months to get to Tír Fradí.” 

“Tell me what you’ll need from me and you will have it.” He can lift boxes, cook or deal with the sails. He has no intention of sitting on his ass. 

“Siora paid your passage - you don’t need...” 

“Give me a task,” he says firmly. “Please.” 

“You were always a good cook cap... Vasco. Care to handle the kitchen?” 

“I’ll cook.” 

Being in the kitchen isn’t so bad. It’s solitary work so he’s able to keep to himself. Few speak to him aside from Siora and Jonas. He’s a mystery to the young crew of Sea Given islanders - a man professed to be their island’s saviour. But he hardly looks the part of a hero; just an old man well past his prime with a too-patchy grey beard and sad eyes. 

“What’ll you do after this, Captain?” Jonas asks him. 

“Vasco. Just Vasco.” He has to correct Jonas every damn time they talk. The man is probably doing it on purpose and it’s damned irritating. 

“Fine. Vasco. What will you do?” 

“Nothing.” 

Jonas is taken aback by the response. “Nothing?” 

“This is a one-way trip for me. Not leaving the side of that volcano alive. Siora and her sister can do whatever they wish with my corpse. There won’t be anything left of me to give a damn.” 

Jonas’ face falls. “You can’t know that. There are people ready to fight - they just need you to lead ‘em. Your death isn’t certain.” 

“I’m _not_ leading them,” Vasco says emphatically; the idea of leading the Natives into battle is acutely horrifying. “Not my place to do so. My job is to take a knife to De Sardet and make sure he doesn’t get up again. Then I can die in peace alongside what remains of my _minundhanem_.” 

“Is there any way to change your mind? I’d love to sail with you again.” 

He looks at Jonas, exasperated. “I’m already dead, Jonas. I died 25 years ago the day the island fell to the imposter gods.”

Jonas seems to accept this, albeit reluctantly. “For what it’s worth, you taught me how to be a leader. Everything I’ve become is because of you.” 

“No. Everything you accomplished you earned. I may have taught you the ropes but you stood up and ran with them.” 

At night he runs his fingers over the faded symbols of the tattoo over his heart. The one marking him forever as Siora’s _minundhanem_. A ritual he performs every night. The lines are faded, the tattoo itself splotchy (it was her first time tattooing someone after all) but it’s the one that means the most to him. There’s a knock on the door of his quarters. 

He hadn’t wanted his own room but Siora insisted. 

“Come in!” He calls out. Siora opens the door and looks startled at the sight of him with his shirt off. 

Her gaze abruptly averts to the floor. “I’m sorry, I had not realized you were changing.” 

“I invited you in. I’m not uncomfortable being unclothed around others but I’ll throw a shirt on if you’d feel more comfortable.” He grabs the shirt he’d tossed off to the side and puts it back on. 

“How are you feeling, Uncle Vasco?” Siora asks as she sits in a chair by the bed. 

“Ready to go. We have not practiced in several days. You’ll need more practice if you hope to stand a chance in the fight.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow works.” 

Siora hesitates. “I... talked with Captain Jonas. He told me what you two talked about. And how you told him that my sister and I can do whatever we wish when...” 

“When I drop dead properly?” He’s never been one to beat around the bush. He’s dying and he’d rather not mince words about it. 

“Yes. That. I can take you back to sea. Or we can do a ceremony on the island? What would you prefer?” Siora cannot meet his eyes and fiddles with a loose thread on her sleeve. 

“Don’t matter to me. Can hardly call me a Naut anymore so I’m not sure I’ve earned a Naut burial. But I’m also not an islander.” 

“But you are family.” 

He sighs. “It’s your choice. I mean it. There won’t be anything left of me to give a shit.” 

“I’ll... think of something suitable,” Siora stammers.

He nods. “Good. You need to survive and if you’re going to survive, you need to practice. Every day, for the rest of the voyage I’ll run you through drills. I’m a dead man but your whole life is ahead of you.” 

***

They stand at the railing, looking out at the horizon following their lesson the next day.

“You thought about what your people will do once they’re dead? They killed your god.” 

“My parents told us that the world runs in cycles and En on mil Frichtimen’s time will come once more. But they have never elaborated.” 

Of course an immortal being would have a back-up plan; some means to ensure he remains. “So he still exists in some form, then. Carefully hidden away from the imposters.” 

Siora looks amazed; evidently she never put the pieces together. “How do you know that?” 

“I read between the lines of your parents’ words. Not everyone is a blunt asshole like me who runs his mouth. People hide a lot between the lines and it will do you good to learn to catch what they truly mean.” 

“How will we find where he’s hidden?” 

“I have no doubt your parents have made arrangements. En on mil Frichtimen will show himself once more when the time is right.” 

Siora is the same age his Siora was when they met. 22 years-old. In many ways she’s still so young, but in many more she’s wise beyond her years. Growing up under the thumbs of imposter gods can do that, apparently. 

She never knew peace until she joined the Nauts. And even though she’s found it, she willingly returns to fight for Tír Fradí. To die for it, if necessary. 

Siora would be proud of her namesake. 

As the weeks go on, slowly she begins to improve in combat. She’ll never be a duellist but she can hold her own until she has a chance to disengage. And she’s quiet, meaning she can sneak up on a target and kill them with the poke of a poisoned knife. That is her greatest strength, and the tactic he urges her to take when the time comes. 

“Will I live, Uncle Vasco?” She asks, breath coming in quick gasps after a particularly strenuous lesson. 

“Don’t know. I don’t see the future.” He won’t let her get arrogant. Arrogant people die in battle. She needs to fight carefully and cautiously. The world needs her to live. 

***

They approach Tír Fradí. “There’s a port a day’s walk away from where my people are hidden,” Siora says. A casual admission that alarms him. 

“No. You can’t bring this ship into a port. We’ll be seen,” he hisses at her before rushing over to Captain Jonas. “You can’t bring her into port. We must row in and destroy the boats when we land. To do anything else announces our arrival to them and those allied with them.” 

“Cap... Vasco, we’ve made port a number of times without trouble. They leave us alone.” 

“So long as you don’t leave the immediate vicinity! Bunch of Sea Given Nauts traipsing through the bush? They’ll slaughter us. We _must_ be discreet.” 

“And if all of our boats are destroyed, how will you get back to the ship? What if something happens when we depart for open water once more?” 

He looks at Jonas incredulously but recognizes that the man before him does not realize that for most of his crew, this is their final voyage. He built this crew to be a part of a rebellion but thinks they will leave the shores of the island once the battle is won. “Most of us will not live to come back to this ship. There are blueprints in the Quartermaster’s office for boats; if you’re worried, gather whomever returns and build a couple before departing. But, please, do not throw the lives of these people away needlessly.” 

“Very well. You will row in and destroy the boats.” 

He pats Jonas on the shoulder. “Thank you. You’re a good man.” Many who have attained the rank of captain are unwilling to listen to other viewpoints, let alone accept them. A mark of poor leadership. Jonas has grown into a fine man and a better captain. 

Even with trading off with the others in his boat, the journey to the beach is exhausting. The waves are rough, the wind heavy, and his arms ache with the effort. They hit land and him, Siora and a young man named Ben drag the boat up the beach where he proceeds to tear it apart, throwing the pieces back into the sea. “The tide will take them away. We were never here,” he says and watches as the other boats are destroyed as its occupants make it to land. 

Tír Fradí feels... wrong. While he never bonded to the island, he’d spent enough time there to feel the magic all around him. A magic that has been corrupted for the selfish gain of the conquerors. Looking ahead to the woods he sees the soil is an inky black. Corrupted by the gods who suck the life out of the land around them. The leaves of the few trees that still live are black. 

“Any of you know what happened to the continent?” He says quietly. Being on his own for nearly 25 years means any news he has heard has been sparse at best. 

“The malichor is ravaging what remains of the cities and towns. War burns the rest. I hate going there,” Siora says. 

Jonas walks up to him. “They had Prince d’Orsay brought here. The winged _nadaig_ must have transported him because our ships certainly didn’t. There was a trial, I’m told. Just a show trial.” 

“Obviously,” Vasco says. 

“He was put to death. A public spectacle; all of their ‘followers’ were ordered to watch. It was a warning for all who dare cross them, but positioned as freeing the Congregation from his tyranny.” 

“I remember the burning. It is my first memory. I was only three suns old and I’ll never forget it,” Ben says with a shudder. 

“Barbaric fucks, forcing such a sight on a child,” he says. 

“The dark haired imposter hasn’t been seen in years. Not since most of the clans surrendered,” Ben says. “Periodically the scarred one shows up. He’s put Doneia Esgregaw rebels to death. I’ve heard stories but have not been forced to watch another execution.” 

“So De Sardet is playing house with Constantin and can’t be bothered to show himself to his people. That’s interesting,” Vasco says. Everything De Sardet did was to put himself, his nation and his cousin in a better position. After learning the truth of his origins, he was apparently content to let his nation burn, but now that he’s built a life with his cousin, he’s disinterested in the actual act of ruling. An odd thing. 

But, then again, he always did what his precious Constantin wanted. If this is the arrangement Constantin wants, then De Sardet remains at home, warming the bed. 

“He controls the plant life of the island. He pulls thick vines from the ground and can strangle people from anywhere. While he’s not seen, his presence is felt,” Siora says. “I’ve known sailors who’ve seen the vines do their work. It is unpleasant, I’m told.” 

They walk through the woods, careful to stay off the main paths. “Some of our people are loyal to them and don’t follow simply out of fear. If we are seen by them, we will be reported,” Siora says. 

“Which villages turned?” 

“Most of Vignamri. High King Ullan was the first to bow to them. Those who would not bow had to flee and are in hiding.” 

“Not fighting with the Doneia Esgregaw?” 

“No, Uncle Vasco. Those who fled share other gifts with the cause. Not combat. Some hide in the woods and offer healing or a place to hide if it is ever needed,” Siora responds. 

They walk past what remains of San Matheus. A charred ruin. Something crunches beneath his feet and he looks down, expecting it to be a branch only to discover it is an arm bone. He recoils in horror. “Too many died. My people could not give everyone their burial rites,” Siora says.

“You tried to bury the _renaigse_ too?” 

“ _Màtir_ has told me that most of us were united against the imposters. Our allies deserved the same respect when we could give it. Now there is little separating those of the continent who remain and my people.” 

“That’s one way to unite people,” he says bitterly. 

***

Guards use a bird call to announce their presence and Eseld and Aidan are waiting by the entrance of the village. Eseld remains a warrior; her face scarred by battle but her body is tall and strong; the only evidence of her age being the grey streaking her hair. Aidan is the same handsome man he was decades prior but when he walks towards his daughter Vasco notices a slight limp. An injury in combat or a product of age? 

“Siora!” Eseld calls out before speaking in rapid _Yecht Fradí_. Once he would have been able to understand her words but he is no longer able to. 

“ _Màtir_ , Uncle Vasco is here. I found him,” she says, taking her mother’s hand and leading her over. 

Eseld looks him over. “You still know how to fight?” 

“Well enough to give De Sardet the death I should have given him years ago.” 

The woman approves of his answer. “Good. We will speak at home. Your other niece, Bladnid, is there.” 

That Eseld still calls him family so casually even after he hid in the woods for 25 years both warms and breaks his heart. “I should have come sooner. I’m so sorry.” 

“Perhaps you should have. But we would not have the resources we have now. You arrived when you did for a reason and, if En on mil Frichtimen wills it, we will win.” 

As he walks through the village he doesn’t just see islanders, but people from the continent of varying ages. Several elderly, a few in their twenties and thirties and a couple of children. Where they were originally from is now impossible to discern; for all intents and purposes they are now people of Tír Fradí. 

A tall woman with long hair who looks just like Aidan stands up when they enter and runs to Siora, pulling her into a tight hug. Siora’s twin sister. “Bladnid, this is Uncle Vasco,” Siora says, gesturing towards him. 

“Your beard hides your tattoos,” Bladnid says with a bluntness he can’t help but respect. A beard he grew because looking in the mirror and seeing a Naut shamed him and reminded him of his failures. 

“So you don’t like it, then?” He says, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“No.” 

“Bladnid!” Siora admonishes. “My sister has always been... honest. I’m sorry.” Bladnid sighs, looking exasperated by her sister. 

“I respect honesty. And give it in return. So I don’t actually give a shit about your opinion on my face, Bladnid.” 

Bladnid laughs before embracing him. “I like you already, Uncle Vasco. _Màtir_ said she didn’t ever get to know you but that Auntie Siora told her you spoke your mind.” 

They gather around a small fire in the centre of the cabin. “I have sent scouts to give word to the other villages,” Eseld says, “I’ve urged them to send their best warriors. We have one shot at this and if we all die, at least we went down fighting.” 

“What do we have on our side? What weapons?” 

“There are a few bonded to the island who use magic. But they are vulnerable to them.” 

Meaning if De Sardet and Constantin call for them and they cannot resist, they will become one of their guardians. 

“So they remain back, then?” 

“We do not fight,” Aidan says. “I heal the wounded. If we do not fight against them, they do not call for us.” 

“So far,” Eseld corrects. “When the tide turns against them, they might do so.” 

Aidan pulls a vial out of his pocket. “That is why I’ve carried this since I learned of En on mil Frichtimen’s fall. I will not be turned against my family.” 

Eseld says nothing but he sees her take Aidan’s other hand and grip it like a vice. “A courageous thing,” he says to Aidan. 

“Not courageous. Pragmatic. All the remaining _doneigada_ do the same. I fear we will all perish in the coming fight and our ways will be lost. I’ve taught my daughters all I can but Bladnid will not be bonded until the imposters are killed. Protecting our sons and daughters is more important.” 

“What else do we have?” 

“Anger. A powerful weapon when wielded correctly,” Eseld says. 

Something he understands intimately. All he has left is his anger and bitterness and the intense drive to end De Sardet’s life. 

“While your people clearly have your own poisons, I’ve developed a few of my own over the years. Siora has been taught them already and I will share the knowledge with anyone else who wishes for it. If we can down their corrupted beasts in one or two hits we’ll make our way to them more quickly and with fewer fatalities along the way. And De Sardet will die at my hand by a poisoned blade.” 

Instead of being impressed Eseld just gives him a look. “You do not know, then?” 

“Know what?” 

“They’re completely immune to any poison. It’s their bond that protects them. Your life’s work will do _nothing_ against them.”

He narrows his eyes. “These are potent. I’ve tested them thoroughly on a variety of creatures. None survived longer than a few minutes with the most potent one.” 

“You are free to try but you will be wasting your time and the time of my people. We have one shot at this; figure out a new way to kill him.” Eseld looks distinctly unimpressed by the internal crisis this has wrought in him. 

He’s almost numb. 25 years of imagining De Sardet falling by the very same poisoned blade he failed to kill him with, and now he knows he wasted his time. 25 fucking years of his life. That the man will need to die another way. “Oh, I’m sorry I wasted my time working out how to kill two immortal gods for the last 25 years!” He snaps. 

“I have raised my daughters while leading a rebellion to save my people. And I’ve still tried to kill them. Dozens of times. I’ve thrown bombs at their sanctuary. Tried to goad them both into battle. I managed to shoot the scarred one once and just barely escaped with my life. It did _nothing_ to him and ten of my people were murdered as recompense! De Sardet hides - nobody has seen him in twenty years. I did not have the luxury of hiding alone, licking my wounds,” Eseld says, her frustration with him evident and he feels a newfound stab of guilt. 

“Well, let’s continue on, then,” he says, sounding defeated. He should have come back years ago.

“Their _nadaig_ will be a challenge. They are strong,” Eseld says. “I will not leave them under their control.” He thinks of Siora and his face twists with grief and shame. Her voice softens and she speaks with a kindness he does not deserve, particularly after his last outburst. “We will free her, Vasco.” 

“Do you know how many are under their control?” 

“They keep your _minundhanem_ as their personal guard.” He curses as he hears this; clearly a decision made on purpose by them. Revenge against Siora for daring to speak up against De Sardet. For loving him. “Several others patrol the island but so long as we remain at a distance they do not engage us,” Bladnid says. “If we fight quickly, we will be able to get to the imposters before more are called to join the fray.” 

“Once De Sardet and Constantin are dead, will they return to what they were before?” 

“We don’t know,” Aidan says, “if they do not, we will give them peace.” 

“I’ve told Siora this: whoever gets to Constantin kills him. But De Sardet is mine. I owe him a death and I intend to give it. Once that is done and Siora has been taken out of her misery, I can die in peace.” 

“You need not die. You are welcome here with your family,” Aidan says. 

Family. He is with his family. People that still welcome him even though he hid away for years while they fought and suffered. He doesn’t deserve this. 

“While I appreciate the gesture and am honoured to be welcome home, I do not deserve your kindness. I was meant to die on that volcano 25 years ago. I will not walk down it again.” 

Aidan nods, accepting this without argument while Siora looks sad. “You are an honourable man. And it’s not a kindness: it’s truth. You are my aunt’s _minundhanem_ ; that makes you my uncle.” 

“And my brother,” Aidan adds. 

“Mine as well,” Eseld says. 

“If we’re going to be getting soft, I suppose I should add to that you are also my uncle,” Bladnid says, her face reflecting her amusement as she watches the sudden show of affection. 

“That’s the first and last time anyone will ever call me honourable, Siora. I’m a bitter old sailor who takes every advantage possible in a fight because if I can make someone drop first that’s one more person I can kill before I’m granted my own death. I... am glad to be with family during my final weeks.” 

It’s more than he deserves after failing them so thoroughly all those years ago. 

“You could live, Uncle Vasco. Don’t go to the battle expecting to die. There’s so much more you can teach me,” Siora pleads. He’s the only trainer who has refused to give up on her. Who has run her through drills and figured out her strengths. He’s not just an uncle; he’s a mentor. 

“I don’t expect to die, Siora. I know I will die.” 

“If I leave the battle alive I will be pleasantly surprised. I will gladly sacrifice my life so my daughters can live in a better world,” Eseld says. 

“ _Màtir_ , you are the greatest leader our people have. We need you as High Queen,” Bladnid says firmly. 

“You need your freedom more. There are other strong leaders to choose from. I will fight until I fall.” 

That night he sits outside by the fire. For awhile he makes small talk with others from the village - the son of a Congregation merchant who did not make it onto a ship and decided to join the rebellion, an elder, and a young islander couple. But eventually they all head to bed, leaving him alone. That is, until Siora arrives. Can I join you?” 

“Sure, I could use the distraction from my thoughts.” The reminder that he’s a failure. That all of this suffering was caused because he could not stab one man. 

“What are you thinking about?” Siora looks so young and so hopeful. 

“A dangerous question. I should not burden you with my troubles.” They sit in silence for a bit as Siora appears to be trying to figure out what to say next. “I used to imagine a family. With Siora. It could have happened if I’d not been too cowardly to do what I knew needed to be done. A son and a daughter. You look just as I imagined my daughter would look. I thought my mind had finally been lost for good when I saw you. That my fantasies had become hallucinations.” 

Siora gives him a sad smile. “ _Màtir_ often looked sad when she looked at me as I grew up. I was always told I looked like her. But until I met you and saw your reaction I did not realize just how close the resemblance is.” 

“It’s close. In the days before the battle I hardly slept. I would stay awake and try to memorize every detail of her because I wanted my last thoughts to be of her. She did the same with me. Your eyes aren’t quite the same colour and she was _On ol Menawi_. Every night as we made our way to the battlefield we’d make love instead of sleep. Every time we told each other it would be the last. That we’d sleep so we would be at our best for the fight to come. But we needed each other more.” 

He sighs, feeling the lump in his throat as his eyes well up. But he does not cry. Not here. “I do not have much but anything you find on me when I die or at my cabin belongs to you and Bladnid. My sword was a gift from Siora - I imagine one of you could make use of it.”

“Bladnid’s sword was made for her by one of the Congregation blacksmiths that sought refuge here. It is a very good sword and I doubt she’d ever care to use another. But I’ve never had one I’ve felt strongly about - not that this would surprise you; anything I’ve learned about sword fighting that I have retained I have learned from you.” 

He unsheathes his sword and hands it to her and she feels the weight of it. “It is a good sword. My aunt gave you a fine gift.” 

Vasco smiles at that. “It is yours once I’m gone, then. You will wield it well.”


	6. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constantin and Loïc build a life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: an execution and an unhealthy relationship that includes manipulation and secrecy.

“Adrien d’Orsay! You stand accused of treason, gross mistreatment of your gods, murder and kidnapping. How do you plead?” 

Uncle Adrien has been placed in the stocks for his trial and on Constantin’s orders, children from the villages are pelting rotten fruit and vegetables at him. One more indignity before he faces his final humiliation. Constantin runs the proceedings as Loïc looks on in silence. 

“You are not gods, you spineless cowards,” Uncle Adrien sneers at his son. “I wish the malichor had taken you.” 

“The defendant opts not to enter a plea!” Constantin shouts at the audience of islanders who had been gathered here in the ruins of New Sérène by force. “By default, that makes him guilty!” 

Uncle Adrien was always going to be found guilty. This trial is nothing more than a show of power. And has lasted all of about ten minutes.

“The convicted will be put to death at sunrise tomorrow!” Constantin concentrates, and several guardians close in on the audience, making it clear that they are to remain witness to the proceedings. Ullan wordlessly begins building a pyre. 

“What a glorious fire we shall have, my lucky star,” Constantin says when he returns to Loïc’s side. 

It doesn’t sit right with him; what is about to happen. “Can we not imprison him? Surely he has knowledge that would be useful?” Loïc says, trying to keep his voice steady to hide just how affected he is by this. 

Constantin’s eyes narrow. “I am surprised at you. We have access to all of the information we could ever need yet you try to plead for clemency for the man who abused us? Why would you do this to me?” 

In theory they have access to thousands of years worth of knowledge gleaned from generation after generation of people who have lived on the island and returned to its soil after death. But neither of them have yet to figure out how to access it. 

“I apologize, Constantin. I suppose I feel sentimental is all. You are correct in your course of action,” he says, giving Constantin a kiss and willing him not to be angry with him. 

Constantin softens. “It’s my turn to protect you. That is why he burns in the morning. I will protect you. I will always protect you.” 

Once Constantin is asleep Loïc slips from his arms and walks over to the stocks to find Uncle Adrien is awake and staring blankly at the ground. “I expect you never suspected it would end like this, Uncle,” he says quietly. 

“No, I always knew my son would declare himself a god and that I’d be burned at the stake,” Adrien says sarcastically. “And my line dies with me. Generation after generation of d’Orsays ruling our nation and now it ends.” 

“Your son is a god and will be for eternity,” Loïc says coldly. “Your line does not end with your death.” 

“You know, Loïc, I thought you could be the brains behind the throne. My boy would rule but you’d be the one with the real power, whispering in his ear behind closed doors. I always knew you two loved one another. It disgusted me but I used it. I gained a protege I could shape to ensure the Congregation’s future was bright. I was wrong. You’ll never be the brains behind him. Constantin is in control and all he will do is sow chaos. Loïc De Sardet will never make a decision of his own again,” Adrien says, his tone mocking. 

“He is my husband. We make decisions together.” Loïc says in a low voice, careful not to wake anyone up. 

“You’re not a child anymore. Stop being naive; I taught you better than this. All the potential you had bled out of you the moment you joined your hand in his. He owns you now.” 

Loïc glares at Adrien. “I’d come to offer you an easier death. But if I am incapable of making my own decisions, I’ll leave you be and allow my husband to dispose of you as he prefers.” With his head held high Loïc walks away. 

“Foolish boy! Get back here and free me!” Adrien calls out. Never before has Loïc heard his uncle sound frightened and now, as his one hope at salvation leaves his side, he sounds utterly terrified. 

It’s Constantin who lights the pyre the next morning. Loïc stares, unfeeling as the man who taught him how to be cold burns. Adrien’s screams are intermingled with the cries of children. “He got what he deserved,” Constantin says once the screams stop. 

“Yes. Yes he did, Darling.” 

***

“Where shall we build our home?” Constantin asks him. “I’d prefer to live away from our people. We have the power to maintain control from afar.” 

He’s had an idea for their home for months. “What would you think of a treehouse nestled in a volcano?” 

Constantin looks at him strangely for a moment before he realizes what is being proposed and he laughs hysterically, until tears roll down his cheeks. “What a brilliantly absurd idea. Let us make the husk of the old, weak god our home.” 

En on mil Frichtimen is nothing more than a dead tree now. Hollowing out space for their home takes a mere thought for Loïc. Vines erupt out of the ground, working away at the wood until they have a space several stories high within the trunk of the former god of Tír Fradí, complete with a spiraling wooden staircase. 

Crafting a door is a little more work; momentarily he is thankful for Kurt’s woodworking lessons before the memory of his betrayal sullies the thought. “We will need furniture,” he says to Constantin. 

“An easy enough thing to procure. We do, after all, have our own errand boy.” Constantin whistles and gives a note over to a _nadaig_ Baro which takes off running on his orders. All the note contains is a drawing of the volcano - a clear enough instruction for Ullan. 

Ullan receives Constantin’s call and arrives several days later, bowing deeply to them both. “How may I serve you?” 

“We need furnishings for our home.” Constantin gestures to the now hollow tree and Ullan’s eyes go wide for the briefest of moments before he remembers himself and the company he keeps. “A bed, stove, cabinets, clothes, chairs, a table and a couch. Please have your people dig through the rubble of the cities to find these items,” Constantin says flippantly. 

“It will be done, my lords. You should know that the Doneia Esgregaw have a new leader. Killing Daren was wise, but they are determined to overthrow you both.” 

“Who is the leader?” Loïc asks, though he suspects he knows the answer already. 

“Eseld of Vedrhais.” 

“I suspected as much. Please have your people report their activities to you. In turn you will report them to us.” 

Once they’re alone, Constantin closes his eyes and focuses. Casting some sort of spell. “What was that?” He asks once Constantin’s focus returns to him. 

“A vision for Eseld. I showed her what would happen if she does not surrender. A slow death, not just for her but for all those she loves.” 

Visions? That’s a new skill. An impressive one. “And when did you learn to do this?” 

Constantin settles behind Loïc and wraps his arms around his waist. “You told me stories of the visions you had, and thought that in time I would be able to grant them. Not to inspire or to set someone on a path, but to remind our enemies of our power. This was my most powerful one yet.” Loïc sighs, feeling overwhelmed and aroused by the power of the man holding him. “Shall I teach you?” He whispers in Loïc’s ear. 

“Yes. Teach me.” 

***

“You’ve done so much for me, my dearest husband,” Constantin murmurs against Loïc’s neck as they lie in bed together. “Allow me to care for you. Protect you. Spoil you. Remain here in our home, in peace and comfort.” 

“But what about the Doneia Esgregaw attacks? I must help you, Constantin.” 

“And you will,” Constantin says, holding him more tightly. “Your powers can be used from anywhere on the island. You can strangle someone standing all the way across the island. If you’re needed, you would not need to so much as get up off our couch.” 

“And what of you, Constantin?” 

“Our army fights for us. Ullan’s people. It is rare we will have to show our power. But I can leave and deal with the occasions in which we will before returning to your side. Relax for a few decades and simply be my husband and the god at my side.” 

Sometimes he thinks of Adrien’s final words to him. That he’ll never make a decision of his own again and that Constantin is in control. But that’s not what this is. His husband is offering him a chance to rest. To enjoy a quiet, leisurely existence by Constantin’s side. 

And it’s what he wants. It’s what he’s always wanted. 

“I would be pleased for the chance to relax. To simply live at your side in the home we created the day we joined together and became gods.” 

The next day he starts working on a garden, after calling for Ullan. He’ll need seeds - from flowers, fruit trees and vegetables. As the months go on his garden grows green and vibrant, giving the two of them a bounty of fresh fruits and vegetables. Their connection to the island means they no longer need to eat or drink, but it is a ritual Constantin insists they retain, if only for the pleasure of it. So he plants grapes, because if they are to eat, they will also have wine. 

When the flowers bloom he places them in vases around their home. A stasis spell keeps them fresh for weeks. 

Loïc sits in their sitting room beside his husband, a bowl of fruit in front of them, and a home that smells of fresh flowers. “This is perfect, Darling. Utterly perfect.” He leans over and gives Constantin a kiss, his lips lingering on his. 

“It is the life you always deserved. That I could give it to my precious Loïc is something I am grateful for,” Constantin says. 

***

“What is it like out there?” He asks Constantin as they lie in their bed one night. “Only the Doneia Esgregaw still fight us; surely things have become better for the island?” 

It’s been years since Loïc has left their sanctuary in the heart. Constantin leaves periodically with their _nadaig Frasamen_ but he does not, preferring to focus on their garden and speaking with Ullan during his visits once every season. 

Ullan has always painted a beautiful picture of life outside their sanctuary. One he is unsure he believes. 

When necessary he can attack from afar, calling vines up from the earth and strangling the rebels who threaten the two of them. As the vines choke the life out of his target, he can read their minds, seeing their fear. Their anger. Their steadfastness. None of them regret their actions, even as they die for them. 

Constantin squeezes his hand and pulls him closer. “We have brought peace to the island. Those of the continent are no longer hurting them. Things are well.”

“And the continent?” 

“They don’t matter, my lucky star,” Constantin says, giving him a kiss. “What they experience is the consequences of their choices.” 

“Mother was of the continent and she was a good woman,” Loïc says softly. 

He never did find out when exactly she died. Uncle Adrien had never told him. 

“And she is at peace now. This island is our home and its inhabitants are our people. Things are good. We’ve saved them from a god unwilling to do what was necessary to protect them. We care for the people out there and protect them from the rebels who would destroy everything we’ve built,” Constantin says firmly and with such confidence that Loïc feels convinced that he is right. 

This is a conversation Loïc remembers two years later when he finds himself needing to leave the sanctuary for the first time since they locked themselves away after the worst of the fighting ceased. He’s been longing for the tart berries that grow in the area around what was once San Matheus. When he asked this of Ullan he had told him they could not be found. 

Perhaps it was simply a misunderstanding and he did not describe what he wanted well enough. It has been a long time since he’s had them. Constantin is out doing... something. Presenting a show of force against the rebels, most likely. 

With a wave of his hand the vines holding the stone door shut withdraw and he steps out of their sanctuary. Outside their home, the world is not the paradise described to him. The soil is an inky black, with the texture of crude oil, most of the plants are black, as if they’ve caught the malichor and as he walks away from the volcano, he must step over the corpses of both beasts and humans. 

Death is all around Loïc and it takes his breath away. He focuses on the dying plants, willing them to grow, to return to a vibrant shade of green. They twitch half-heartedly when hit with his magic and wilt. 

What has Constantin been doing? Why is the land in the shape that it is in? Deep down, he knows the answer: Constantin’s bond with the island is slowly killing it. 

For the first time in two decades, Loïc sits and wonders if perhaps he made a mistake all those years ago. That they are not the saviours of the island that he always believed, but the people who have damned it. 

Overwhelmed by the thought but powerless to do anything about it, Loïc sits on a rock and weeps. 

“My lucky star! What troubles you so?” Constantin rushes over to him. “You left our home wide open. What are you doing out here?” 

“Is it like this everywhere?” Loïc asks Constantin coldly. 

“Of course not,” Constantin says flippantly. “This area is particularly bad because the Doneia Esgregaw keep trying to force their way in. It’s their poisons and their explosives that are doing this. We are the saviours, Loïc. They cannot accept this and would rather see the island die than worship us.” 

“You mean... it’s their fault? Not...” 

“You didn’t truly think I did this, did you?” Constantin scoffs, sounding offended by the very idea of it. “Why would I do that to our home? Why would you think such a thing?” 

He was wrong to jump to conclusions. It is the rebels who are responsible, not his husband. “Please forgive me, Darling; I was being foolish.” 

Constantin kisses his forehead. “There is nothing to forgive. Come, allow me to cook us dinner.” Taking his hand, Constantin leads him back into the sanctuary and closes the door behind them. 

“Why do you insist on cooking? It is not as if we need to eat anymore. If you’re so set on enjoying a meal we can find someone to cook for us,” Loïc says as he wraps his arms around Constantin’s waist. 

Left unsaid is that Constantin is a terrible cook. 

“I enjoy the ritual of it. Sitting down to a meal with my husband. And I will not have anyone cook for us. Ever.” 

Poison. Constantin fears being poisoned again. “You know we’re now immune to all poisons,” he murmurs into his neck, planting several kisses on it. “If they try we will destroy them.” 

Constantin turns and gives him a smile, ignoring his previous statement. “It’s a lovely evening. Shall we eat in the garden tonight?” 

“I would like that.” 

It’s easier at home with his husband; locked away from the world outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who has read my other series, featuring my canon De Sardet, this story takes place in the same universe... only Loïc was born and not Elizabet/Alys. So all of the characters are the same, but interact and have a very different relationship with Loïc compared to Elizabet/Alys. 
> 
> I’ve pondered writing a twin AU where both Elizabet and Loïc exist. Initially I’d thought to do it as a one shot, featuring a single significant confrontation but if I do write it, I suspect it might be more involved now.


	7. Vignamri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bladnid and Vasco journey into Vignamri where almost nothing goes as planned.

“You’re taking too long to reload. Fifteen to twenty seconds is what you need to get down to. Right now it’s taking you twice that,” Vasco says as he looks at a pocket watch. “Again. Reload and fire at the targets.” 

He’s been taking her through these drills every day. With beads of sweat dripping down her temple she gets to work reloading the pistol and in a smooth motion she fires at the target dummy, hitting it square between the eyes.

“28 seconds - better. Your shooting is improving too, but a still target is easy. I’m taking you out hunting tomorrow.” 

“We aren’t going to run out of ammunition and gun powder, are we?” Siora says. An ongoing concern of hers; she feels her instruction might hurt their supplies for the impending battle. 

Not a concern. He knows how to make gunpowder and there are more than enough people who know how to manufacture bullets. And even if it was, the value of another trained warrior holds far more value. Especially if it’s little Siora and she’s able to protect herself properly. 

“And as I’ve told you repeatedly, it is not something to worry about. You need to learn and we will make sure you’re not just competent but skilled with a firearm.” 

“You are good with her,” Eseld says when she sees him sitting by the fire later that afternoon. “Persistent but not unkind.” 

“Why did she never receive proper training before me, Eseld? You are a skilled warrior and Bladnid is as well.” 

Eseld looks guilty at the line of questioning. “Bladnid took to it naturally. From the moment she could walk she swung a little wooden sword. Siora is more like her father. She preferred to explore the world around her.” 

“But she is learning. You could have taught her.” 

“I’ve been fighting a war their entire lives. As hard as I tried I could not do everything. It was Aidan who was there every day, teaching them, and raising them.” 

“And he is no warrior?” 

“No. He prefers to heal. When I could I put them through drills but it was our blacksmith who taught Bladnid.” 

A _renaigse_ taught Bladnid? He must look surprised because Eseld gives him a smirk. “Michel is one of us as are all who remained and chose to join our cause. He is a skilled swordsman who taught her well. Unfortunately he lacked the patience to teach Siora. Aidan and I found others who tried but you’re the first to have success.” 

“It’s not a matter of patience but a matter of finding what she’s good at. She’s damn quick.” 

“I sent her away so she wouldn’t have to fight yet she returns insisting on doing her part. Siora is sensitive. Caring. What will fighting in a war do to her?” Eseld looks at him and he can see the devastation in her eyes. The knowledge that both her children are being sent off to war tears at her. 

He’s not a parent. He’s in over his head right now, but still, he tries to offer comfort. “Siora cared so much. She healed us and kept us all from falling apart. Still, she fought at my side with a fierceness and skill I always admired. Your daughter will be the same and she will make it through this. They both will.” 

“Tell me a story about her. I know how she saw you but not how you saw her.” 

It takes him a moment to think of one. Something that represents who she was as a person. 

“I was hit in the head during the coup and ended up with a concussion. Siora did what she could for me but I was a damn horrible patient. I confronted De Sardet the next day, begging him not to be a total fucking asshole for once in his damned life. It didn’t work and I nearly passed out. Siora ended up giving me a sleeping potion. I hadn’t slept much that night and I was probably damned irritating to deal with.” 

“If you collapsed you obviously needed to take it easy and if you weren’t going to on your own, she’d have forced it on you. I may not be a healer but I know that much,” Eseld says. 

“I woke up and she was still next to me. She’d told me she would stay with me but I still assumed she’d be gone when I woke up. But she wasn’t. She was holding my hand and placing damp cloths on my head. Nobody ever saw fit to care for me like that. Not once before or since,” he chokes up, fingers trembling as he wipes a tear off his cheek. “And I never told her what it meant to me. To know she gave a damn about me.” 

“She knew, Vasco,” Eseld says softly, looking just as affected as he is. 

“You raised two good women, for what it’s worth.” 

“I feel as if it is Aidan you should be complimenting. I was away so often.” A statement made matter-of-factly to hide the guilt she is clearly feeling. 

Guilt. An emotion he knows too well. Eseld doesn’t have anything to feel guilty for. “And so they saw that their mother is a fighter. A leader. Someone who stands up for her people. What better example for them to follow? They had parents that love them. Who did the best they could and I won’t let you feel guilty for the choices you had to make.” 

Eseld chuckles a bit, shaking her head a little. “I don’t believe I need your permission to feel guilty. It is the nature of parenthood to feel guilty for your decisions. To second guess yourself. Things I did not learn until I held them in my arms for the very first time.” 

***

The crunching of leaves and twigs beneath their feet are the only sounds they’re making as they wander through the woods. Armed with swords and pistols, their goal is for Siora to take down her first live creature. 

Instead of earthy, the woods smell like rot and sulphur, making him gag. A side effect of the poisoning of the land by the corpses of De Sardet and Constantin’s corrupted beasts. Today there will be one fewer of them roaming the woods once they’re through with it. 

A roar in the distance. “ _Ulg_ ,” Siora whispers. “I’m not sure I can fight one of those.” 

“Yes you can. I’ll be right here but you need to be confident you can handle this on your own,” he whispers back. 

He steps back as the corrupted _ulg_ rushes towards her. Siora’s eyes are wide with fear (a good thing, Vasco thinks; it shows a healthy respect for her opponent) but her hands are steady as she aims her pistol. Her first shot goes wide and she leaps out of the way of the beast’s charge. Shot number two hits its mark, burying itself deep in its chest. It cries out, enraged and in agony but Siora, undeterred, fires once more, hitting it in the head and killing it. Almost timidly, she walks over to it to make sure it is dead. 

“Quick tip,” he says as Siora jumps in fright, “do not approach an enemy unless you are certain it is dead. A dying beast or person can easily get another attack in, which could be deadly.” 

“Sorry Uncle Vasco.” 

“Don’t apologize - you just made your first kill! You should be proud!” He exclaims as he wraps his arms around her. “What do you do with their bodies? I assume you cannot eat them?” 

“No, their flesh makes us sick. Their bodies are burned. I’ll show you where the pit is,” Siora says, grabbing the body of the _ulg_ by the legs and dragging it away. 

The pit is a deep, black crater and the stench of sulfur burns his nostrils and makes his eyes water. Siora pushes the body over the ledge and into the pit. “They are burned once a week and the smoke is horrible.” 

“Are all the animals corrupted by them?” 

It’s been two weeks since they arrived and he’s yet to have meat aside from preserved fish. Not that it bothers him; during his years on the island he ate nothing that came from the sea. It was too painful to imagine sitting at the edge of a dock and fishing. 

“Almost all of them. There are a few remote areas with creatures that have yet to be affected but we do not dare hunt them. My parents do not know what will happen to the animals when the imposter gods are killed. They may return to what they once were or they might not. So it is essential to protect those that are uncorrupted.” Siora kicks at a pebble on the ground as they talk. 

Had he killed De Sardet that day none of this would have happened. Siora looks at him. “It is not your fault,” she says simply. 

How did she know? Siora must see his mind turning so she continues. “I sailed across the sea with you. I’ve trained with you. I know your tells. And you’re about to blame yourself for what Constantin and De Sardet did. Don’t.” Siora looks straight at him in a gaze so angry, so passionate that it burns him. “They don’t come back. Those on the continent. Instead of bringing reinforcements, they sent Nauts to watch. For 25 years they’ve paid our people to fucking watch as my people suffer! Most of them ran with their tail between their legs and they never came to help. They tried to convert us, they experimented on us and then they abandoned us. They abandoned their people and we took them in. Invited them into our homes and our families. You came back. You spent 25 years readying yourself to come back. As far as I’m concerned that makes you better than an entire _renaigse_ army.” Angry tears roll down her cheek and she wipes them away roughly. 

“You haven’t known me long enough to be disappointed.” 

Siora laughs. Not a joyful laugh, but an angry one. “The first thing you did was disappoint me. But you did what we all knew you would in the end. Please, Uncle Vasco, can you try to see yourself the way I see you?” 

She’s young and hopeful and looks at him with a respect he hasn’t seen since his Siora looked at him that final day. “And how do you see me?” 

Her bottom lip trembles slightly. “As the first person who has ever cared enough to figure out how to teach me to fight.”

***

“We should just pluck Ullan’s eyes out. It’s not as if he needs them; he’s already blind to the world around him,” Bladnid says as him, Siora and Eseld walk towards the High King’s village of Vignamri. One of the very few villages to prosper under the imposters. 

Vedleug is a ruin. Derdre died at Dorhagenedu and the people of the village fought hard against De Sardet and Constantin. Those few who survived joined the Doneia Esgregaw. 

Vígshádhír remains, Eseld tells him, but its people suffer. “The people are hungry. There is nothing left for them to hunt and the soil frequently provides little bounty.” 

The village is not at all as he remembers it. In many ways it looks more like a _renaigse_ village than a Native one. The streets are cobbled and the buildings are built in the style of the continent. “Well fuck me,” he mutters under its breath. 

“Profiteers. All of them. We should torch the entire place,” Bladnid says. 

“That is not our way!” Siora admonishes. 

“Remember, Bladnid, that decent people remain in this village. Not everyone was in a position to flee. Some live quietly under the thumb of Ullan. It is them that we are seeking,” Eseld says. 

“Ullan will have eyes and ears out in the streets. We are sure to be discovered,” Vasco says. “Torching the place is not a good idea but killing Ullan might be. If they see that a Naut did it, there shouldn’t be consequences for your people.” 

“There are always consequences. We breathe and there’s consequences,” Bladnid says, fingers inching towards her sheathed sword. “If we’re to kill him, I’d ask for the honour, _Màtir_.” 

“They might not recognize Bladnid right away. _Màtir_ , what if Bladnid and Vasco go?” Siora suggests. 

Bladnid closely resembles her father. Siora is more immediately recognizable as the daughter of Eseld but Bladnid might be more invisible. Still, Eseld doesn’t look happy about the suggestion. “I would not want you to go into town unprotected.” 

“I know how to fight! And I won’t be alone, I’ll be with Uncle Vasco.” 

He holds his tongue, just barely. Eseld sent her daughter to find him to fight at her side; you’d think she’d trust him to watch her over other daughter. “Siora has a point. If it’s Bladnid and I, we aren’t as immediately recognizable.” 

“Fine. But your mission is to find allies, not assassinate Ullan. Do not touch him,” Eseld says firmly. 

“Lucky you, Uncle Vasco. You get to spend time with your second favourite niece,” Bladnid says with a smirk as they walk into the village. 

He sighs. “It’s not a matter of favourites, it’s - ”

Bladnid cuts him off. “No, it’s good that she has you. I think it was hard for _Màtir_ sometimes, to look at Siora. And they don’t have much in common. Siora, despite her lack of interest in training to become _On ol Menawi_ has far more in common with _Tad_. We’ve always been a close family but sometimes _Màtir’s_ distance hurt her. Does it hurt you; looking at her?” 

Bladnid is an observant woman and her bluntness means she asks questions most would never dare to. “At first. Now I see a woman who is very different from the one I love. But one who is no less special.” 

“Aren’t you sweet,” Bladnid says dryly. 

“You, Bladnid, remind me of the man I once was. Back before life made me bitter. Don’t let the same happen to you.” 

“I won’t. This time we’re going to win. And I will watch as the imposter gods’ corpses burn.” 

“I hope it is a sight that brings you peace.” 

He keeps his head down as they walk through the cobbled streets of the village. Eseld told them where they may find people willing to join the cause. They knock on doors and speak in hushed whispers and find only fear. 

“You shouldn’t have come. Ullan loves our gods. I cannot go against them,” a man by the name of Garrett whispers. “It’s time you accept that we lost. They’re our gods now and if we pray to them hard enough, perhaps they will undo what was done to the soil.” 

“But not to us!” Bladnid says in an angry whisper. “We’ve lost who we are! We cannot become _On ol Menawi_ for fear of becoming one of their thralls. Fight for your people!” 

“What we are has changed. I’ve accepted it. So should you.” Garrett slams the door in their faces. 

“Fuck you!” Bladnid shouts and he grabs her hand and shushes her. 

“Discretion! You can’t curse out every person who annoys you when we aren’t even supposed to be here!” 

She waves her finger at him angrily. “You never kept your mouth shut decades ago. Auntie Siora told _Màtir_ plenty of stories!” 

“And look where that got me!” He snaps before he calms and speaks more gently. “That man is not our enemy. He’s been defeated and needs our help. The best we can do is move along and try to find those who might be willing to join us.” 

The second house refuses them. And so does the third. “One more house. If they turn us down can we just go assassinate Ullan so this wasn’t a waste of our time?” 

He’s tempted to indulge his niece at this point, despite what Eseld said. “We’ll see,” he says instead. 

A woman named Ceri opens the door. She has curly blonde hair and her age is difficult to discern but if he had an estimate he’d say she was in her late 30s or early 40s. “You are Eseld’s daughter?” She asks Bladnid. 

Bladnid nods. “We come seeking help.” 

Before she can say anything more the woman closes the door. Bladnid moves to begin pounding on it when it opens again and the woman walks out with a bag and a bow and arrow. Ceri is an _On ol Menawi_ but given her age it is more likely she inherited the bond than went through the ceremony. “Once the gods are dead I will be able to use the magic of my people but until then I will shoot arrows at our enemies. My little sister, Lowri, is a surgeon and will be along in a minute.” 

Vasco looks at the woman blankly. “A... surgeon?” 

“We had a Bridge Alliance doctor take refuge with us. One of the few survivors of the coup decades ago. My sister wanted to learn so she took her as an apprentice when Lowri was an adolescent. Unfortunately the woman was murdered a year ago. Her body was found charred near Vedrhais.” 

“Constantin,” Bladnid says. “His skill with lightning has become somewhat infamous.” 

“Yes. We do not know why she was targeted.” 

A young woman with bright red hair and a mark that matches her sister’s walks out, carrying a sword and medical bag. “Ceri has given you a summary of my qualifications and I assume they are acceptable?” 

“A good surgeon is always useful,” he says. 

“Then let us leave this vile place,” Lowri says. 

The four of them are walking through the outskirts of Vignamri when they’re approached by a number of guards wielding rifles. “King Ullan has requested you join him,” the lead guard, a man wearing elaborate Native armour, says. 

“We’ll pass,” Vasco says and the man raises his rifle and aims it at him. 

“That was not a request.” 

“Then you shouldn’t have worded it as such,” Bladnid snaps. 

“Shh!” He doesn’t know how he’ll face Eseld if anything happens to Bladnid on his watch. 

They’re escorted to a large home - a palace to be more accurate, and are relieved of their weapons. He stands close to Bladnid, hoping to stop her if she looks as if she is about to do something reckless. Bladnid appears defiant but he can see the fear in her eyes. 

The throne room is massive, with wood floors and a fire in the centre of the room. Ullan’s throne is constructed of bone - animal bone, Vasco hopes, but that he cannot tell for certain makes him uneasy. 

“A gift from the imposter gods?” he wonders to himself. 

Ullan walks in, head held high and sits on the throne, looking every bit the king he believes himself to be. “Our beloved and generous gods will be interested to learn of this. Active recruitment, in my village. The village that has been especially blessed by our gods.” 

“Fuck the gods,” Bladnid says, spitting on the floor. Guards immediately move to seize her but Ullan raises his hand, stilling them. 

“Allow them to speak their minds. For now.” 

“Anything you say will just be shared with them so keep your mouth shut,” Vasco hisses at his companions. 

“You must be the Naut,” Ullan says, looking directly at him. “They’ve told me about you. I was given orders years ago to bring you directly to them. They have... plans for you.” Ullan’s face breaks into a menacing grin that sends a chill down his spine. 

“You can’t have him, you traitorous fuck!” Bladnid shouts. 

“While the support is appreciated, please, Bladnid, don’t do anything stupid. Please,” he pleads with her before turning to Ullan. “You bore me. Let me guess: they intend to make an example of me? Torture me and publicly execute me? Or do they have something more interesting in mind?” 

“I could hardly spoil the surprise, but suffice to say, there will be an audience.” 

He won’t let himself be taken to them. He’d sooner die here trying to kill Ullan and free his companions than allow those people to torture him to death. At least then he’ll have died doing something. 

“I have information!” Lowri shouts before kneeling. “Please, King Ullan, allow me to approach. I know where the rebellion hides.” 

“No! Don’t do this!” Bladnid screams, making to run at Lowri but Vasco grabs her hand before the guards can shoot at her. 

“You can still get out of here. I may be damned but you aren’t yet.” 

He looks over at Ceri whose expression is unreadable. What are they up to? 

“You may approach, young one.” Lowri walks towards Ullan and kneels at his feet, going so far as to kiss his feet in supplication. 

Ullan chuckles as if Lowri is a child who has done something cute, but looks pleased by the gesture. “That is unnecessary.” 

“The rebels are planning an attack. They intend to defeat the gods,” Lowri says. 

“Yes, that is generally assumed,” Ullan says impatiently. 

“They’re hiding. Nearby. Waiting for those of us who intend to betray you.” 

“And you will lead my guards to them?” 

Lowri looks up at Ullan and meets his eye. “I will.” 

The woman slips a hand past the collar of her shirt briefly and when it returns to her side her fist is clenched. “The man closest to you,” he whispers to Bladnid, “be prepared to tackle him and disarm him. I’ll go for the one behind us.” 

A howl of pain and a fountain of red erupts from Ullan’s leg and Vasco leaps into action, tackling the man and grabbing his gun, shooting him in the head. He pivots and shoots the guard closest to Ceri and she dives and grabs the dead woman’s gun. Blood is running down the throne and pooling on the floor underneath. Ullan is slumped over unconscious, his body twitching as blood gushes out of his leg in time with his heartbeat. Lowri is hiding behind the throne and Vasco shoots the guard trying to make his way over to her. Another gunshot followed by the hollow sound of a body hitting the floor tells him that Bladnid has killed the final guard in the room. 

“What was that?!” He yells at Lowri, who nervously stands up, her face, arms and torso covered in Ullan’s blood. 

“Femoral artery. Sever it and you’ll bleed out in minutes.” 

“She is a surgeon,” Ceri says with a shrug. 

“You could have given us at least some indication that was the plan!” Bladnid says, sounding exasperated. 

“It had to look real. If they didn’t believe you thought you were being betrayed it wouldn’t have worked,” Lowri says. 

Vasco concedes that point. It was a clever idea and it saved his life - for now, at least. “We need to get out of here. Preferably not out the front door because our surgeon here looks very much like she just botched a job,” he says, looking around the room, trying to figure out how to get up and out the windows, which are about three metres above them. “Anyone have any rope?” 

Ceri and Lowri shake their heads. “Left my palace escape kit at home,” Bladnid quips before running over to a chest to retrieve their confiscated weapons. 

The palace was constructed out of logs and there are handholds that he might be able to use to climb up. He looks around and finds the window that appears to be most promising. 

It’s hardly the most dangerous climb he’s ever done but certainly the most unusual. He slides the window open and looks down, confirming there are no guards directly below them. “Climb up, one at a time,” he says. “If you need help, I can pull you up.” 

Lowri is first, scampering up almost effortlessly. “What?” She says when he gives her a mystified look. “I liked to climb trees as a kid. Never thought it’d save my life.” 

“Climb down carefully and hide in the bushes. We’ll need to figure out how to get you out of here without people noticing you’re covered in Ullan’s blood.” 

Bladnid is next. It takes her some time but eventually she gets the hang of it and makes it up. “Shall I wait here in case more guards come?” 

He shakes his head. “Your safety is more important than mine. Climb down now.” 

Bladnid gives him a softer look than he’s seen on her yet. “Don’t you dare die, Uncle Vasco.” 

“I won’t. I die killing De Sardet.” 

Her face falls briefly but she steels herself and starts climbing down, leaving just him and Ceri in the palace. “Can you climb it?” 

Ceri looks nervous. “I was never good at this.” 

That’s not a no but may as well be one. He climbs down. “Get on my back. I’ll get us out.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Ceri protests. 

He gives her a look. “I can deal with a sore back but if we don’t get out of here now, we’ll both be dealing with a lot worse. Now please, just get on my back so I can get us out of here.” 

She nods and climbs onto his back, looping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He makes his way back up - far slower this time with Ceri’s added weight but they make it and he starts climbing down the other side of the palace wall. 

“There aren’t any guards as far as I can tell. We’re clear,” Bladnid says. 

“I don’t buy that. We need to get Lowri out of that shirt and clean her up as best we can,” he says. 

Ceri rips off her coat and hands it to Lowri who takes off her blouse, throwing it into the bush. Bladnid grabs the water skin tied to her belt and pours water over Lowri’s arms and face, doing her best to clean off the blood. 

“We walk casually and calmly out of town. Do nothing to raise alarm,” he says and all three women nod. They walk past guards and Ceri nods her head in greeting; one that is returned back to her. Apparently not every guard was warned about their unwanted guests. 

They reach the woods. “ _Màtir_ and Siora aren’t far. Once we meet up with them we will make our way to our base of operations,” Bladnid says. 

It’s hours beyond when they were set to return and after dark by the time they make it back to camp and he can hear Siora and Eseld arguing about what to do before Bladnid whistles, revealing that they are safe. The two of them race over and cling to Bladnid. “What happened?” Eseld demands. 

Siora makes her way to him and gives him a hug. “Thanks for keeping her safe Uncle Vasco,” she whispers. 

“We kept each other safe.” 

“Ullan is dead,” Bladnid announces. 

“What? That was not the mission! Do you have any idea what this could do to our cause? He was our king! I gave you explicit orders not to kill him!” Eseld explodes, not letting Bladnid get another word in. 

“I killed Ullan,” Lowri says loudly. “I’ve spent my whole life in that damn village so it was one of his own who ended his reign. Your people will remain unharmed by it.” 

“I’m not that stupid, _Màtir_ ,” Bladnid says pointedly. 

Vasco decides it is best not to mention that Bladnid had threatened more than once to stop in and kill Ullan during their mission. 

Eseld softens. “I am sorry.” She turns to Lowri. “Why kill him?” 

“His guards took us in for questioning and led us right to him. There was an opportunity and I took it,” Lowri says casually. “I’m a surgeon and I know how to make people bleed.” 

“And what are your skills?” Eseld asks Ceri. 

“I’m trained in magical theory though I do not use it and will not until the imposters are dead. I am a skilled archer, as well as an alchemist.” 

Eseld looks satisfied with both of their answers. “Welcome to the Doneia Esgregaw.”


	8. The Dying Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loïc sees the reality of the world outside their sanctuary.

Constantin has a skull on his fist and is engaging in a rather twisted form of puppetry with it this morning. 

He narrows his eyes. “That is crude, Darling. Please stop. Who is that anyway?” 

“How should I know? Someone who had to die for one reason or another. I’m bored! Call Ullan and tell him to find us something fun to do,” Constantine whines. 

Loïc sighs. “You sound like a teenager and not the god you are. Have at least a bit of decorum?” 

“Oh, don’t be like this. It’s just you and me here.” 

One downside of burning the cities to the ground is that most of the books burned with them. Amusing themselves has become more challenging as the years have gone on. 

“What if we went for a hike?” 

Constantin brightens immediately. “And showed our power to the islanders? You could make their crops grow or I could dazzle them with a display in the sky! Remind them why we are to be worshipped!” 

It’s odd, he thinks, as they wander the island with their _nadaig Frasamen_ guard. Constantin was never fond of the outdoors unless he was riding a horse. But now he enjoys hiking quite a bit. “I’ve never asked you - how did you grow so fond of wandering around outside?” 

“I can feel the magic beneath my feet. It hums through my body. Surely you must feel it too?” 

As someone who has used magic for much of his life, and who had previously had a bond with the island, perhaps what they feel is slightly less novel to him than it is to Constantin. “I do feel it and it is nice. It pleases me to see my husband so happy.” 

“I won’t let anyone take this life away from us. There is no one I won’t set alight to protect you. You do know that?” 

Loïc stops and cups Constantin’s face. “I do. Oh, Darling I know. This life is ours, forever, and we will protect it.” 

The corruption and the death have spread far beyond the outside of their sanctuary, despite what Constantin told him a year ago. “What is going on?” He asks Constantin. 

“As I told you, the Doneia Esgregaw are poisoning the land. I’ve been fighting them when our supporters have been unable to.”

The most fervent of their supporters being the villagers of Vignamri. Ullan has handpicked warriors to fight in honour of their gods. 

“And how often do you fight them?” 

Constantin’s eyes narrow. “Whenever I have to in order to protect our life together.” 

The thought that Constantin is responsible for this sneaks back into his mind. What if the island is corrupted when he taps into the power of it for his spells? Whenever he steps onto the battlefield the island dies a little more? 

No. It can’t be. Constantin has been his love for decades now. He wouldn’t lie about this. 

Still, the blackened soil and plants is extremely disconcerting. Constantin wants to show off their power, to remind the islanders why they are gods. But he can’t make dead plants grow, he thinks, though he does not say this aloud. “I will think of something we can do to impress our subjects and remind them of the power of their gods.” 

***

The people of the island occasionally leave offerings outside the sanctuary. Not food; they told Ullan long ago that they wouldn’t accept food, but blankets, furniture, and intricately woven rugs are commonplace. Constantin would bring them up to their home. 

The _nadaig Frasamen_ calls for them, indicating that something has arrived for this. This time he opts to go with Constantin, instead of prompting Constantin to invite Ullan to have an audience with the two of them inside the sanctuary. With the island’s plant life dying, it is time to take an active role and home keep a closer watch on things. Not something he’s been able to bring himself to mention to Constantin. 

It’s not an offering this time, but a guard dressed as those of Vignamri dress. He kneels as soon as him and Constantin appear. 

“This is highly irregular; where is Ullan?” Constantin demands. 

“Dead, my lords. Four days ago.” 

Loïc steps closer to the man who is still kneeling before him. The man looks up at him and he can see his fingers are trembling. 

“Do you fear your gods?” He asks the man. 

“No, my lord. Just... overwhelmed by the honour it is to be in your presence,” the man says, hardly able to speak through chattering teeth. 

“How did he die?” 

“Stab wound to the leg. There was blood all over the throne - he bled to death. All the guards in the room were dead, my lords. His assailant escaped out the window.” 

“And did our High King not think to place guards outside the window?” 

“The windows were high up; no person should have been able to scale the walls!” The man says, an air of desperation in his voice. 

“Constantin, your thoughts on the matter?” His husband walks up and stands beside him. 

“Our subjects have lost their high king, which is unfortunate. But it was an antiquated role. We are the rulers of the island, are we not? Summon the _Mals_ and advise them that there is to be a council meeting,” Constantin says, sounding every bit the ruler he is. 

“Did anyone see the assailants leave the village?” 

The guard shakes his head. “They slipped in and out. As if by magic.” 

He sends the man a way with a flicker of his hand. The man, seemingly relieved to have not been strangled or electrocuted, runs away as quickly as he can. 

“Whoever killed Ullan knew what they were doing. Why go for the leg unless you know how to make your enemy bleed?” Loïc says as they walk towards their home. 

“A trained assassin?” 

“Or a _doneigada_ trained in healing.” 

“Or Bridge Alliance. A handful did survive and Nauts have been sailing around the island more frequently these last few years. They could have dropped someone off with the intention of winning the island back.” 

“I suspect not. The alliance has little reason to fight for control of this place.” Given that the island is slowly dying, he thinks but does not say aloud. “The person who killed Ullan was one of our subjects.” 

“There was no damage to the throne room and the guard did not know how the assassin got out the window. How is that explained?” Constantin asks him. 

“They had help. The guards were all dead which implies a group entered the throne room four days ago, with every intention of murdering the high king. Someone in the group was a skilled climber and scrambled up the wall.” 

Constantin looks thoughtful. “You don’t think they have a Naut working for them, do you?” 

Loïc scoffs. “Don’t be absurd. They don’t have a Naut.” 

“There need not be another High King,” Constantin says to him the next morning. “We are their gods. We know what is best for them. I shall be High King,” he says. “We both shall be,” he amends. 

King. A human title and they are no longer human. But humans love their titles. “A splendid idea, Darling,” he says. “What if you rested for awhile? Ruled from here while I watch over the world outside our home?” 

If Constantin isn’t actively fighting, he won’t cast as many spells and maybe the plants and the soil will begin to heal. Maybe he won’t eventually be the god of a graveyard. 

Constantin cups his face, bringing him close and resting his forehead against his. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” 

“And I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” he says in response. The truth. They’ve fought and they suffered for so long to build this life they have together. It’s not perfect but it’s theirs and he will do whatever he must to protect it. 

“We go out into the world together. How about that, my lucky star?” 

If he’s at Constantin’s side perhaps he can slow the damage done to the island. Or find some way to make the plants vibrant and lush once more. He smiles at his husband. “Let us depart from our sanctuary together as kings.” 

It is when he’s concentrating on the trees in the forest and the roots beneath his feet that he can sense it. The Naut. He’s returned. 

Oh, this is an interesting development indeed, he thinks. If the Naut has returned from whatever hole he hid himself in, that means the Doneia Esgregaw are preparing for a fight. A final onslaught and him and Constantin will crush them. And finally, they will be gods without resistance. 

A grin on his face and a spark of inspiration in his eyes, he bends down, placing his palm flat on the ground. He concentrates. A vision - one specially crafted for the Naut. Showing him his failures. His lover’s sacrifice made in vain. The dead bodies of thousands of people in cities that burn. The destruction of Naut ships as his people are crushed beneath the wreckage. 

The old man will try to fight, and that is his right. But until they meet on the battlefield, he will torment his mind, reminding him that he is nothing more than a worthless mortal. 

Constantin approaches. “A vision? Who did you grant it to?” 

“You’ll enjoy this, Darling. The Naut has returned. Should we encounter him in battle, I’d like to finish him off, if you don’t object.” 

“He’s all yours,” Constantin responds. “Not that it will be any fun for you; he’s an old man by now and certainly cannot match you in battle.” 

“I’m not doing it for fun; I’m doing it because he hated me. Dying at my hand would be one final humiliation for him.”


	9. Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco is tormented by De Sardet.

It takes him suddenly. The vision. Siora’s fate flashes through his mind first. Her anger and bitterness towards him for failing to stop them. Corpses in a burning city. His people being crushed by the falling debris that was once their ships. 

He falls to his knees, unable to hold himself up. It lasts for several minutes and ends with the reveal of his corpse, impaled by hundreds of thorned vines. 

“Uncle Vasco!” Siora shouts, dropping her sword and running to him. She kneels by his side and when his mind clears, looks at him, eyes full of concern. “What happened?” 

Siora is frightened. He should take this seriously but he laughs. Almost maniacally; harder than he’s laughed in years. “Speak to me! What happened?” She demands. 

“They showed me a vision. My failures and my corpse.” 

“Do not let it bother you. They’ve given _Màtir_ many visions over the years. She’s learned to ignore them. Talk to her; she will tell you what to do,” Siora says with a sense of urgency in her voice. An urgency that is not needed. 

He laughs once more. “You misunderstand. I was not bothered. All the failures they showed me could not possibly be worse than the visions I’ve created in my own mind. Let them try to torment me. Let them waste their energy and their power because there is nothing they could show me that’s worse than what I’ve conjured myself.” 

“I’ve heard stories of people tormented to madness by their visions. They don’t serve to help, they are meant to torture.” 

“Well, some would say I’m halfway to madness anyway so I doubt anything they try can make it any worse,” he says, gesturing to the sword Siora dropped on the ground. “Come, we need to continue your training.” 

***

Immortality is inconvenient. And De Sardet and Constantin are immortal. A fact Vasco points out at their war meeting. 

“Not immortal,” Bladnid says. “Unaging. They can be killed, it’s just really difficult to do.” 

“So immortal, then,” he shoots back because even if they technically can be killed, if it’s next to impossible to do, they’re immortal. 

“What if we were able to weaken their bond?” Siora pipes up. “There are plants that will do that. And you can do whatever else needs to be done, _Tad_.” 

“Assuming we can find the seeds we need and coax them to grow with the damage the scarred one has done,” Aidan says with a sigh. 

“I’ll get you the seeds,” Eseld says, and nobody questions how so Vasco is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The woman has shown that she knows what she’s doing so if she says she can get what they need, she will. 

“You’ll need a guard if you are to go, Aidan,” Lowri says. Her and Ceri had been invited to join in planning after their impressive display in Vignamri. “You can’t fight back and if they realize what you’re doing, it could be extremely dangerous.” 

“There’s no ‘could’ about it. This is real fuckin’ dangerous,” he says. “I’ll come along. I’m good at killing and I’ll watch your back, Aidan.” 

“Me too. I may not have magic but I know plants and might be able to help,” Siora says. 

“It can’t just be you three,” Eseld says. “It needs to be a coordinated assault. That means every ritual site gets dealt with at the exact same time by a team of people, led by a _doneigad_. If we go one at a time they’ll figure out what we are doing. This way, by the time they learn our plan it will be too late and we’ll have made them vulnerable.” 

“I’ll go to one,” Bladnid says. “Ceri, Lowri - would you two like to come along?” 

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lowri says immediately. “I’ll even tell you two where to cut someone to really make ‘em bleed.” 

“Remind me not to piss you off,” Vasco says to Lowri who grins. 

“I’ll go with a few of my warriors and meet with a contact of ours and I’ll send another team to the last site. Once the seeds are in-hand we’ll set a date and as soon as the sun begins to rise we will cut them off from their power,” Eseld says. 

It’s a good plan. When Eseld returns a week later with the seeds, she distributes them and they agree to plant the seeds around the stones at sunrise three days from now. 

Him, Siora and Aidan stay off the main roads and stick to the woods. Not an easy route but one that will keep them away from those who may denounce them to the imposters. His current company makes him uneasy - in a fight he’s not confident Siora will be able to win unless she is able to use stealth. The better bet is to avoid a fight entirely. 

They’re a few hours away from where they’ll camp for the night when Vasco realizes they’re being tracked. “Someone is following us,” he says quietly to Aidan and Siora. He draws his sword and Siora follows suit. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees movement in the bushes. Placing a finger on his lips, he looks at Siora and Aidan, who continue walking and he circles back around. It’s just one man - he can deal with one man on his own. He sneaks up, grabs the man around the neck and raises his sword, ready to slit the man’s throat when Siora screams. “Uncle Vasco, no!”

He lowers his sword and loosens his grip and the man falls to his knees. “I surrender!” He cries, looking up at Vasco. 

The man is a Naut. Ben - the young man who rowed in with them. “For fuck’s sake, you daft idiot; why were you sneaking around on us?”

“I’m trying to find the Doneia Esgregaw. I have a warning,” he says, shaking visibly from the adrenaline of almost getting himself killed moments earlier. 

“What warning?” Aidan asks, offering his hand and helping Ben up. 

“High King Ullan is dead.” 

“We know,” all three of them say simultaneously. 

“Well... well...” Ben stammers and Vasco finds himself growing irritated with the young man. 

Siora is more patient. “Take your time. You’re safe with us,” she says, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man turns a brilliant shade of crimson. 

“The imposters called a meeting of the _Mals_. At this meeting they announced there would not be another High King or Queen. Constantin and De Sardet are now High Kings, in addition to whatever title a god gets.” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s just ‘god’,” Vasco says blithely. 

“At the end of the first day of the council meeting, the _Mal_ of Dorhagenedu - my father, called a secret meeting. At this meeting it was agreed that they would formally protest the decision. That immortal beings cannot know the day-to-day needs of our people. He told me all of this and said they planned to appeal directly to De Sardet, who is the more reasonable of the two.” 

He knows what happened. Why Ben ran to find Eseld. He curses under his breath. 

“They killed them all. Every single _Mal_. Including my father,” Ben says, tears rolling down his face. “I’m going to kill them! Let me join you. Please.” 

Siora says nothing but wraps her arms around Ben and holds him for a long time. Vasco looks over at Aidan who is looking grim. He motions to the other man, who follows him off to the side. “None of the villages have their leaders, save for the Doneia Esgregaw. If word gets out about what they did, more will join our cause,” he says to Aidan. 

Aidan frowns at him. “You are not happy this happened, are you? Good people died there.” 

“As I’m well aware. But they made a severe tactical error and, tragic as it is, we must use it to our advantage. Your _minundhanem_ would agree.” 

The other man looks like he wants to argue, but opts not to in the end. “I’m not built for this,” Aidan says, sighing. “War. Decades of it. All I’ve ever wanted is to help heal the sick and injured. To serve my people.” 

“Few are,” he says. 

“Who will lead us after they are defeated? So many leaders, killed in an instant...” 

“You or Eseld,” he says. “You’re the natural choices.” Aidan doesn’t respond to him; he simply walks back to Siora and Ben, looking desperately sad. And it hits him that Aidan doesn’t think both him and Eseld will survive the battle. That, if one of them survives, it will be without their love. 

Ben grabs the rifle off his back. “I will come with you. I can shoot a rifle and I make my own grenades.” 

“Ben is very good at alchemy,” Siora says, sounding proud. 

A good skill to have. But not one good for use on a ship; one mistake and an exploded grenade will either set the ship on fire or blow a hole in it. “You don’t make grenades on-board, do you?” He says to Ben, his tone saying that he assumes the other man wouldn’t be that stupid. 

“I’m very careful!” He says. 

“May be careful but you’re damn stupid too. Siora, talk some damn sense into him. He fancies you and will actually listen.” 

“I - I - I,” Ben squeaks, his face going even more red. 

Siora hangs back with him as they walk on towards the ritual site. “That was kind of mean, you know.” 

He gives her a wry smile. “I’m kind of an asshole, as you may have noticed. Don’t appreciate it when people tiptoe around things. And given what’s coming I figured he’d regret not saying anything. Not sure what your feelings are for him, so I apologize if I made it awkward for you.” 

“He’s nice...” 

“But boring? But you aren’t interested? But you’re worried about saying something?” 

“Worried about it not working out and things being awkward on the Don de Dieu,” she says. 

“We could all be dead in two weeks. Who cares about awkwardness? I’ll keep your dad occupied tonight so the two of you can do whatever it is you’re going to do.” 

“It’s a little strange that my uncle is conspiring to get me to lay with someone,” Siora says, giggling. 

“Whatever you do is your business; I don’t want to know about it,” he says in response. 

Siora has a smile on her face and a spring in her step that’s new and as they make camp just outside the ritual site the next evening he sees that her and Ben are holding hands. 

That night another vision comes to him. This time it is Siora and Bladnid’s bodies. He jolts awake, his heart racing, sweat dripping down his brow as he gasps for air. 

“Eseld gets them too,” Aidan says from his spot by the fire. “There are herbs you can take to block your dreams.” 

He gets up and sits by the fire with Aidan. “They don’t bother me. All they’ve shown me are things I’ve imagined myself.” 

Aidan pokes at the fire with a stick. “You tell yourself that, but even here in the dark I can see your face is streaked with sweat and you’ve yet to catch your breath. May I ask what they showed you?” 

“You don’t want to know,” he says, not able to look at Aidan. 

“There is no wisdom in them. No lesson. Only pain. Do not take them as a sign of what is to come.” 

“They struck them down. I saw their bodies.” He gestures over to where Siora and Bladnid sleep and Aidan briefly looks concerned before he speaks. 

“Eseld has had many visions of the same thing. None have come to pass. I cannot say they will be safe, but I have hope. The fact remains that I am a parent sending both of his children off to war. A war I wish we’d won years ago.” 

“They’re strong people. They wouldn’t want to stay back while you fight.” 

“Don’t take them as a warning. Use it to give yourself strength. Fight so that the future they show you does not become real,” Aidan says before handing him the stick and going off to bed. 

When he does fall asleep, it’s next to the fading embers of their campfire. To everyone else he looks like a man seeking the warmth of a fire. Only he knows that returning to the dark fills him with fear and dread; the image of his nieces dead on the ground flashing behind his eyes every time he closes them. 

De Sardet found the one thing he’d never imagined because up until a few months ago he had no idea those two young women existed. 

Dawn. It’s time for them, and the other teams to simultaneously block the stones at the ritual sites around the island. Aidan wordlessly plants the seed and the four of them watch as vines sprout instantly, crawling up the stone and burrowing deep underground. “How do we know if the others succeeded?” Siora asks her father. 

“We cannot know until we return home,” Aidan says. 

The ground shakes below them. “We’re about to have company,” he says to the rest of them. A corrupt _nadaig Magamen_ approaches them, making its way into the ritual circle. “Aidan, stay back and cast your healing spells if necessary. I’m getting up close; you stay back, Ben. Siora, cover your father and fire from afar with your pistol.”

He hopes Siora listens to him because she’s not ready to fight a _nadaig_ in close quarters. 

It’s about how he remembers it; diving out of the way of its spear attacks before lunging for his own counter attack. Of course, being 25 years older now is a bit of a liability. He’s slower than he once was. Something he is painfully aware of when he’s thrown against the ritual stones by the guardian. He groans, moving to stand up as the _nadaig_ closes in, spear raised and ready to be thrown.

Ben has a good eye and Vasco will grudgingly admit the grenade he threw ended up saving his life, knocking the guardian prone just before it could get its fatal hit in. He gets up and stabs the _nadaig_ through the skull, killing it. “Everyone good?” He asks, breathing heavily as he makes his way over to the rest of the group. 

Siora and Ben nod, looking winded. “I will assume nothing,” Aidan says. “We should return to our camp and I’ll look you all over.” 

Along the way Aidan stops and gathers various plants. “They’re growing better here than I’ve seen them grow in some time. I can put together a healing potion for anyone who needs one now,” he says. 

He’s sore but doesn’t want Aidan to fuss over him or Siora to worry so he tries to beg him off when he approaches back at camp. “My aches are because I’m old, not from the battle,” he says. 

“I saw the way you landed a few times, Uncle Vasco. And the way you were thrown just before you got the final blow in. Stop being a stubborn ass and let _Tad_ look you over!” 

Sighing, he relents and feels the tingle of Aidan’s magic wash over him. “My daughter is right about you,” Aidan says, scolding him as if he were a lad caught stealing an extra helping of dessert. “Three cracked ribs. I’m surprised it’s not worse given the way it sent you flying into the rocks.” Not his finest moment in that fight, admittedly. “Lie down,” he says, gesturing to a nearby bedroll. 

“I’ll be fine; there’s no need to tend to me,” he says, wincing as he moves. 

Aidan throws the herbs he picked into a pot with some water and stirs before placing it on the fire. “So, is this self-flagellation, then? Letting yourself suffer because you feel guilty about your perceived failures all those years ago?” 

“There’s nothing ‘perceived’ about them,” he mutters, irritated that this man could read him so easily. 

“You put your faith in the wrong man. You’re hardly the first to do so. You had to save your people, which you did, and you gave Eseld enough warning for her to rally the village and prepare a defence. The only person who hates you or thinks you failed is you,” Aidan says, as he fans the flames of the fire and stirs the pot. 

He doesn’t answer Aidan, for fear of breaking down if he starts to talk. To try to explain precisely how he failed his _minundhanem_ and her people. Aidan pours the mixture into a cup and hands it to him. “Drink this and then I will heal your injuries.” 

It’s a thick brown liquid, unlike any health potion he’s ever seen. “It will help your body heal, but it will also ease your pain and put you to sleep. When you wake we will begin making our way back to the Doneia Esgregaw camp.” 

“And if we’re ambushed?” He can’t be drugged because that makes him useless. Ben can’t be the only skilled combatant amongst them. 

“We’re hidden deep in the woods. Siora has set traps all around us. This is as safe a place as any,” he says. “You’ll be no good to us in a fight in your current state. Continue punishing yourself if you must when we return but please don’t put my daughter at risk by doing so now.” 

The image of her dead body, planted in his head by De Sardet returns to mind. She can’t die. They both must live. 

Aidan’s won. He lifts the cup to his lips and drinks it back, gagging as he does; the thick texture of the liquid cloying in his throat. “Make sure nothing happens to her while I’m out of commission,” he hollers to Ben, but he’s unconscious before hearing his response. 

Siora is sitting next to him when he wakes up. “I was told to give you water,” she says, holding a cup up to his lips and helping him drink. 

“How long has it been?” 

“Six hours. Early enough that we can make some progress before it gets dark. _Tad_ would rather if you were able to rest for a few days but with circumstances being what they are...” She doesn’t need to tell him what those circumstances are. What they’ve done today may not last and they need to attack while the imposters are vulnerable. 

“I’m good to go,” he says, sitting up. His head spins and he finds himself lying back down. 

“Stubborn man,” Siora scolds. “You need to take it slowly. I’m here because you’re going to need help up.” She rests a hand between his shoulder blades and takes one of his hands. With her help he stands up, leaning heavily on her. “We have the camp dismantled. Ben has made a stretcher if you are having trouble.” 

“I’m not going to need a stretcher,” he says. Really, he probably does, but that’s not help he’s willing to accept. 

More than one medic who treated him at sea told him what a stubborn ass he is. Historically he hasn’t been a good patient. 

Siora raises her eyebrow at him. “ _Tad_ told me you’d say that. He also told me he has more of that potion and that we will drug you if necessary. You’ll start to feel better tomorrow - if you take it easy today.” 

It’s slow going. He can walk with help. Siora and Aidan take turns with him; Ben leads the way, rifle in hand. “How long until I’m fully recovered?” He asks Aidan. 

“A week, if you’re lucky and if I’m able to do more healing every evening. But it won’t be as easy a recovery as it would have been if you were their age,” Aidan says, gesturing to Siora and Ben. 

“Any signs they know yet?” 

“None yet,” Ben chimes in. “We’ve been watching for lightning in the sky or vines. Our ritual site is much further from Anemhaid than some of the others so those would probably be their first targets.” 

“ _Màtir_ went to the one closest to them. Said it wouldn’t be right for anyone else to take the risk. I’m worried about her,” Siora says, looking to her father for reassurance. 

“Your _màtir_ is skilled in combat. More importantly, she’s careful. She knows what she represents and how important her role is. She will return to us.” 

He never knew Aidan well all those years ago, but his way of calmly reassuring his daughter is impressive. That and a quiet and uncanny ability to read people.

“Thanks _Tad_.” 

***

His injury slows them down and they return to the Doneia Esgregaw camp more than a day later than they’d planned. Bladnid sees them first. “They’re back, _Màtir_!” She calls. “So, what held you up? Or were you looking to make a grand entrance?” Bladnid looks curiously at Ben. 

“This is Ben. He’s a sailor on my ship and has asked to join us. We’ve been given terrible news out of Dorhagenedu,” Siora says. 

“I’m sorry for the delay. It was my fault; I was wounded fighting a _nadaig_ and it slowed us down.” 

Bladnid isn’t the sort to show sympathy. At least not openly. “Never learned you’re not supposed to get hit in a fight, did you?” 

From Bladnid these are affectionate words. 

“I never considered that. I’ll give it a try next time,” he deadpans. 

It’s Aidan who gives Eseld the news about the other _Mals_. “We must send representatives to the villages. Every one of them, and ask that they send their best warriors,” she says in response. “An attack directly on our leaders will anger many.” 

“How long until we charge into battle?” Bladnid asks. 

“A week. Maybe a week and a half. We must act quickly in order to attack them while they’re weakened.” 

He looks over at Siora who looks nervous but is trying to mask it. That isn’t enough time to ensure she’s able to handle anything thrown her way. Not nearly enough time. But they knew it was coming and that it would be coming up fast. 

Two weeks from now he’ll just be another body in the ground.


	10. Becoming a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Constantin’s actions force Loïc to prepare for a fight.

As a boy Mother would read him stories of lost princesses rescued by dashing princes. The princess, overwhelmed by her handsome saviour, would immediately profess her undying love. He used to like these stories, but he never imagined himself rescuing a princess. 

It was always Constantin. Constantin always needed saving and it was his job, as the dashing prince, to be his rescuer. For as long as he can remember, he wanted Constantin to be his love and not his cousin. 

Volunteering himself as Uncle Adrien’s protege was with this in mind. As he walked to Uncle Adrien’s sitting room he imagined himself on horseback, riding to slay the terrible dragon to rescue his betrothed. 

Only, this dragon spoke honeyed words. Words that made sense. Instead of slaying the dragon, he became it. But it won him Constantin’s love. And a dragon is stronger than a prince. His darling deserves a dragon. Not a mortal man with a sword. 

Becoming a monster was worth it. It will always be worth it. 

***

The _Mals_ gather at Dorhagenedu, as is tradition. However, instead of being alone, they are greeted by their gods. 

“You have all been blessed with an opportunity to have an audience with your most generous gods,” Constantin says as they all kneel before the two of them. Looking nervous and not blessed, he notices. 

“What occasion has brought such a blessing upon us?” Owain, the _Mal_ of Wenshaveye asks. 

“We have exciting news we wish to share with our subjects,” Constantin says. 

They meet inside the council meeting space, which is located in a cabin in the village. Cian, _Mal_ of Dorhagenedu, ensured a fire has been started. All remain standing until him and Constantin invite them to sit. 

It’s Constantin who speaks. “The news of Ullan’s murder is most unfortunate. But in this tragedy rests an opportunity. An opportunity to be governed directly by your gods. Who else but us would have your best interests at heart? We already work tirelessly to protect you; why not lead, as well? The days of a mortal leader are over; High King Constantin and High King Loïc are your leaders now, and forever. 

Silence greets this proclamation. Owain is the first to drop out of his chair and kneel; the rest follow, save for Cian, who seems to do so with great reluctance long after everyone else’s knees hit the floor. 

“Are you not excited by this news? You’ll never have to go through the stress and burden of choosing another leader,” Constantin says. 

“We are, my lords,” Owain says. The rest remain silent. 

This angers Constantin. “Well, let’s hear some enthusiasm! We have so thoughtfully worked to improve your lives!” 

“May our gods reign last until the day the earth dies,” one of the _Mals_ says; a sly insult. But he won’t kill them; he can respect the cleverness of it. 

Constantin doesn’t recognize it as an insult. “A million year reign, my lucky star. What a blessing for all on this island,” he says. 

“Yes, Darling,” he murmurs. 

That should have been the end of it. Their people should have left in peace. But what happens the next morning is near catastrophic. 

Every _Mal_ stands outside the entrance to their sanctuary, asking for an audience. As the kind gods they are, it is granted to them and they are welcomed inside; the first any have received such an honour. 

It is Cian who speaks. “As the leader of our council, it is my duty to humbly request the right to select our own leader. A man or woman who exists separate from our... generous gods,” he says the words as if disgusted with himself, “who knows entirely the needs of our people. Of mortals. As immortal gods, there are trivialities that you should not be concerned with. Lord De Sardet, please grant us this one blessing,” Cian says. 

Constantin’s face darkens as he turns to Loïc. “Our people plot against us! They wish to overthrow our rightful rule!”

“Let them have their little ruler, Constantin,” he says, quietly enough so the others cannot hear them. “We remain their gods.” 

“No!” He roars, a bolt of lightning striking Cian dead where he stands. “Do you all agree with him?!” The _Mals_ do not respond. “Do you?” 

“Darling, you’ve made your point. Leave it alone,” he says. 

Normally he can calm Constantin when he grows this angry but his fury is a raging storm, destructive and unstoppable. Bolts of lightning hit every single _Mal_ and they fall to the ground. The area immediately surrounding their bodies blackens from the force of his spell, showing Loïc firsthand the destruction Constantin can cause when tapping into the power of the island. 

“Look what they did!” He shouts, pointing at the blackened ground. “Look!” 

Every leader of every village is now dead, save for Eseld of the Doneia Esgregaw. All Constantin has done is give strength to her cause. There will certainly be a full rebellion now. “Let’s go inside and have a nice bath, shall we? That will calm us both down,” he says, placing a hand almost tentatively on Constantin’s back. 

“It was them! Loïc, it was them!” He says, his voice now mournful and full of despair. 

He pulls Constantin into a hug. “I know it was them, Darling. You protected us.” 

The lies to his husband are ash on his tongue. 

“Don’t leave me,” he begs, clinging to him like a child. 

“I’ll never leave you, Constantin. You are my husband and we have forever. Please, come inside and let us relax for a few days before figuring out what comes next. Would you like that? You can cook us whatever you like for dinner and I’ll grab a bottle of wine from our pantry.” Constantin allows Loïc to lead him back inside. Inside where he can pretend for a day or two that his husband hasn’t unleashed a rebellion upon them with his rage. 

***

He calls for their army while Constantin sleeps and he sends a call to the beasts of their island and the guardians. To preserve eternity with his husband he will throw it all at the rebels. 

Even if he does become the god of a graveyard, at least it will be with Constantin by his side. 

“Allow me to handle planning the battle, Darling,” he tells Constantin, who simply nods, morose following the deaths of the _Mals_. Not because he regrets the lives lost but because he was witness to the damage Constantin causes. Loïc kisses Constantin on the forehead. “We have forever. Win this fight at my side and you need never cast another spell. I will keep us safe.” 

Constantin nods again and wraps a blanket more tightly around himself. 

Night and day he prepares, calling for their beasts and reinforcing the doors to their sanctuary with his vines. For the first time in years he really tests the power of the island; drawing from it feels as if he were drinking from a firehouse. Endless, everlasting power. 

Or so he thought. 

He will always remember the feeling. The feeling of being drained and blocked off from the island. It feels like a void; like a part of him is missing. He rushes to Constantin who looks panicked. “What is going on, Loïc?” He whispers. 

“The rebels are smarter than I thought. We’ve been cut off. I had sent guardians to the ritual sites so hopefully all those who thought to cut us off are slaughtered as they deserve.” 

He remembers doing the exact same thing 25 years ago. At no point did he think the rebels would do it to them. They killed Dunncas, the man who knew how to perform this ritual. 

Godhood has made him arrogant and he is furious with himself for not taking more precautions. 

They fall to their knees and he holds Constantin tightly. “Can you fix it? I don’t like this. I can’t feel it anymore. Fix this, Loïc. Please,” he begs. 

“In time, Constantin. I fear we will be more vulnerable in the coming battle, however.” 

They can both still cast, but their powers are more limited. For the first time in many years he picks up his sword with the intention of using it to kill. The weight of it feels good in his hands; he’s missed sword fighting. “This won’t be so bad, Darling,” he reassures Constantin. “It’s been so long since I’ve gotten to slice through one of our enemies. We are still so strong. Our magic remains better than theirs, and we are stronger warriors than them all. Let them feel they have a chance; it will only make it more satisfying when we crush them under our feet.” 

This perks Constantin up. “I believe I will use my magic to cut them down. Lightning is so thrilling to use...” 

He rushes over and embraces Constantin, relieved to hear him sound hopeful once more. “That it is. Burn them all. Those smart enough to remain in their villages will flourish under the guidance of their god-kings now and forever.” 

Once more his darling needs him to be strong. To protect him. And so, he is a dragon.


	11. The Final Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doneia Esgregaw go up against the imposter gods and Vasco faces De Sardet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Violence and character death

He finds Jonas at the base camp Eseld and the rest of the Doneia Esgregaw set up at the base of the volcano. Jonas rushes over and embraces him. “Good to see you, Captain!” 

“Vasco. Not Captain,” he growls. 

They sit down by a campfire and Jonas pulls out his sword and begins sharpening it. “Lots of people are here. More than I’d thought based on what Siora and Ben had told me about what things were looking like on the island,” Jonas says. 

“Turns out killing every _Mal_ on the island save for Eseld is a really good way to unite people. Even if it is against their gods. What’s your battle plan?” 

“Most of my crew are with people from their home villages. They all did a good job rallying people to the cause. Figure I’ll step in wherever I’m useful and cut down as many as I can. Still remember all you taught me Cap... Vasco.” 

He spent four years teaching Jonas how to fight and shoot. The man is trained in his style of combat. Which gives him an idea. “I’ve been teaching Siora. She’s making progress but has a long way to go still. And she’ll need a new teacher after tomorrow.” 

Jonas looks at him with an expression more befitting a puppy on the streets of Sérène than a person. “Still got a death wish, then? There’s so many people here - you don’t need to die for us to win.” 

“I do. And I’ve told you before that I’m already dead. Back to Siora - she needs a teacher. And I taught you how I fight. After I’m... gone, would you teach her? In my stead?” 

Jonas chokes up and nods, fist covering his mouth. 

“Her reload time is down to 23 seconds. Still too slow but a good improvement from where she was when we started. She’s excellent with still targets and passable at moving ones. Can’t duel worth a damn yet but she knows how to defend and disengage. Her real skill is stealth. She’s quick and she’s real fucking quiet. That’ll be what you want to help her master. One of our allies, Lowri, is a surgeon and she’s shown her the best places to gut someone to make sure they bleed out or die a quick death otherwise. Morbid, but valuable knowledge to have. I’ve taught her how to make several poisons. And, she’s an expert on the plant life here,” he rambles on, hoping he hasn’t forgotten something Jonas will need to know in order to be her teacher. Because after he walks away from this fire, him and Jonas will never speak again. 

“She’s intelligent and has a good heart. I like her a fair bit and selfishly I can’t help but hope to sail with her for awhile. I’ll pass along all I know because you won’t be there to do it,” Jonas says. 

“Siora will be an admiral one day. Take her under your wing and make sure she gets there.” 

Before he leaves the campfire Jonas pulls him into a tight hug and when he withdraws he sees Jonas’ eyes are damp. “Hearty winds, Jonas.” 

“Hearty winds, Vasco.” 

***

Siora and Ben are sitting with Lowri, who is grinding up herbs to make a paste. “To soothe burns,” Lowri explains. “We are likely to need a lot of it tomorrow but these plants have become scarce.” 

“I’ll stick close to you, doc - you’ll need someone to provide you cover,” Ben says. 

Lowri looks mildly amused. “I do know how to fight but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. You’ll stay close by too, Siora?” 

“Yes.” Uncle Vasco has encouraged her to stay out of the fray as much as possible and provide first aid to those who fall in battle. 

Having Lowri - a trained surgeon on the battlefield gives her a bit of hope. That maybe, just maybe, Uncle Vasco won’t die as he plans. He could kill De Sardet and Lowri can close and treat whatever wounds he has. What would he do, with a life free of the burden of his perceived failures? Would he return to sea? Stay here? 

She thinks she’d like to sail with him. If he gets his own ship again she’ll ask to be part of his crew. Learn more than just how to fight from him. 

“Wish I could throw a few grenades at the imposters for what they did to my _Tad_ ,” Ben says. 

“Think most people on the battlefield are wanting a piece of them. Constantin is fair game but Uncle Vasco has claimed the right to kill De Sardet,” she says. 

Lowri gets up and departs with a wink and a wave, leaving her and Ben alone. He starts whittling a piece of wood - more to fidget than anything, Siora suspects. 

Ben starts to talk, somewhat haltingly as he whittles. “We both gotta live through tomorrow. Because I’d like to see where this goes. You and me. I don’t want this to just be some fleeting romance we got into because we were scared of dying alone in battle. I want more than that. If you do as well, I mean.” 

This is territory she’s never tread upon. All her life she’s been raised to see relationships as pragmatic and not romantic. Neither _Màtir_ or _Tad_ are particularly romantic people. They love each other deeply, but it’s a love that’s practical and private. 

The one truly romantic relationship she’s ever known of ended in tragedy. Auntie Siora and Uncle Vasco. 

But she wants romance. She wants to know what it’s like to feel more than just the excitement of infatuation. To know someone is her _minundhanem_. 

“I think I’d like that. To return to our ship and see what happens,” she says, feeling both nervous and excited at the prospect of a proper romance. Ben leans over and gives her a kiss. “Come to my tent for a bit?” She blurts out, cheeks burning. 

She’ll be sleeping beside Bladnid tonight so this would be their only chance to get time alone before tomorrow. Ben takes her hand and wordlessly leads her to her tent. 

***

Today he dies. 25 years ago he woke up to that realization only to end up surviving. That will not happen again. 

Siora sits with him by the fire. Again, just like the day he was to die 25 years ago. Not his Siora though, but little Siora, his niece. “I’m ready for the battle. To die today, if that is what is needed to win,” she says, not looking at him. 

Her words horrify him. So many people he cared for fell in the first battle; he will not allow it this time. Siora and Bladnid have just barely began their lives; they must not die today. 

He turns his body and rests his hands on her shoulders. “Listen to me, Siora. You need to survive. Both you and your sister. The world needs you too much.” 

“Uncle Vasco, if I must die today to save my people I will.” She looks determined, almost defiant. 

“No!” His voice breaks, “you are young and you are the future. One day you’ll be a great captain. Not just a captain - an admiral. You’ll be the first islander admiral and wherever I end up after I die, I’ll be watching and I’ll be so proud of you. Bladnid will be High Queen and everyone will know of Eseld and Aidan’s daughters.” 

A tear rolls down her cheek and she sniffles. “I’ll try my best.” 

He pats her shoulder. “Good. So don’t go doing anything stupid like going after Constantin, understand? Leave that job to your _màtir_.” 

Siora throws her arms around him in a bruising hug and cries softly into his coat. “I’ll miss you.” 

“You’ve only known me six months; you’ve hardly had me in your life long enough to miss me,” he says lightly. 

Siora pulls back and gives him a look. “You only knew your _minundhanem_ a year and all these years later you still miss her. You’re my uncle and you taught me how to fight and how to make poisons and how to stay alive. I will miss you.” 

He can’t stop the tear that escapes onto his cheek. “I concede your point. Know that I love you and your sister and I am proud, so proud of you both. I - wish there was more time. Now, we have a battle to fight so, much as I am enjoying a sentimental moment, I do have a death to deliver.” 

It’s incredible, looking around to see the people gathered. Their army is made up of thousands. People tired of being crushed under the thumbs of the imposters. 

Eseld walks to the very front, head held high and climbs onto a rock so she can be seen by all. 

“We all know our strategy,” Eseld says loudly to the massive army gathered at the entrance to the heart. “We must cut through the beasts and put their corrupted _nadaig_ out of their misery. A small group of us will make our way up the volcano to confront the imposters right where they live. They will die today, no matter the cost. And if we die beside them, it is so that our children, and our children’s children live free!” 

There’s a near deafening cry of approval in response. “Our true god will rise again!” she shouts which is followed by another deafening cry. He looks out over the crowd and sees a few of their warriors are emotional at the veiled revelation that En on mil Frichtimen remains in some form. 

Eseld approaches him. “You and me will kill the gods. I look forward to plunging my blade into the heart of the scarred one.” 

“They are still vulnerable?” 

“Yes. Aidan has confirmed so. It would not have been possible to undo what was done in the time that they had.” 

Good news; for the first time he feels confident, truly confident that they will win today. A feeling he’d hoped to avoid because confidence on a battlefield can be a dangerous thing. But, so long as he kills De Sardet, his fate does not matter. “I spent a year fighting alongside Siora; it will be an honour to die fighting by her sister’s side today,” he says. 

Together the two of them run up the volcano, pivoting away from the attacks of the corrupted beasts. Killing the beasts is not their job and the rest of the army is doing what they can to clear the way for them. 

The ground turns black and slippery with the blood and entrails of the corrupted beasts. 

Siora remains back to offer first aid as needed with Lowri. Ben remains with them while Bladnid and Ceri fight the hoard with the rest of the army. 

As the two of them push forward, the hoard clears, as if on command and an unnatural fog covers the area. “That’s convenient,” Eseld says to him. 

He shakes his head. “No. They were ordered to disperse. One of them is on the battlefield.” A mix of dread and excitement runs through him at the realization. 

He can hear but cannot see the heavy steps of a _nadaig_. The rumble of its movements can be felt on the ground beneath his feet. “We’ll have to fight our way past,” Eseld says. 

“I’ve fought them before; I know how to win.” He projects a confidence he does not feel; fighting the corrupted _nadaig Magamen_ two weeks back injured him. He’s not what he once was. 

The fog disperses revealing an ageless man with a _nadaig Frasamen_ at his side. Once he thought the man could be handsome if only he weren’t filled with cruelty. Now his skin is sickly pale and his face is permanently frozen in youth. It’s disconcerting to see a young man with the eyes of someone who has lived far longer. 

De Sardet’s beard is perfectly trimmed, as if the idea of going into battle looking unkempt was shameful to him. The branches on his head stand tall; an unsettling crown of thorns. His armour is polished and in the style of the Natives and not the Congregation. A conquerer wearing the armour of the conquered. De Sardet smiles a cruel smile at him. 

“The Naut has returned. It looks as if the years have been unkind to you,” his voice is low and his tone calmly mocking. Eseld grits her teeth beside him, itching to fight. 

“You will die today, De Sardet!” He shouts. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” He gestures to the _nadaig_ at his side. “It’s fascinating what remains when a person changes,” he says, sounding as if he’s talking of the weather and not standing in the middle of a battlefield. “She’s a stubborn one, your Siora. But a fierce fighter and a capable guard. For 25 years she has served us well. It is a shame to lose her today. But, I think I’ll remove my control over her just long enough so she can see what I forced her to do to you. After all, they do retain some memory of what they were once.” He turns to her, “Kill the Naut. Slowly.” De Sardet steps back, as if to watch the fight. 

“Siora!” He shouts, hopelessly trying to break her from the spell De Sardet has her under. It does not work and the guardian charges towards him and he dives out of the way. 

“We must do this quickly! I’ll go up close; you stay back and shoot,” Eseld shouts. He runs backwards and pulls out his pistol, firing at the weak spots in the guardian’s thick skin - the neck and belly in particular. As with all corrupted _nadaig_ , it is as if they cannot feel pain. 

A vortex of green flames swallows him up and he leaps out of it, though not without injury. His leg is badly burned and his back aches from the leap. Still, he fights because he cannot afford to acknowledge pain. Not if they are to win today. 

Eseld is sent flying by a particularly hard hit and so he runs to cover her, drawing his own sword and coating it with the poison meant to send a creature into an irreversible sleep. “I am sorry, _Minundhanem_ ,” he calls out. Poison doesn’t work quite as effectively on the _nadaig_ but it will still do something, especially because she has taken several wounds from their fight. He runs forward, straight for her; knowing if his attack does not hit its mark he’s giving her an opportunity for a fatal blow and stabs. While his blade is hilted in her flesh, she tries to attack, only to miss as black blood gushes out of the wound, spilling onto his coat. The _nadaig_ falls to the ground and Vasco pulls his sword out, ready to make the final blow. 

“No!” Eseld cries, desperation in her voice. “She wouldn’t want it to be you, Vasco. Allow me to sit with her for a moment. I will join you soon.” 

“I need to save her! I failed once, Eseld,” he says, hardly able to speak. 

“Go,” Eseld urges him as she hands him a healing potion. “Deal with De Sardet. You’ve saved her. Come... back and be with her.” 

‘As you die’ being the implication there. He looks over to see that De Sardet has fled, no doubt recognizing the tide of the battle has shifted. 

He nods, drains the potion and runs off in a jog, his leg protesting the movement in every step. Pain he can manage; soon he will feel nothing at all. 

As he runs he passes Jonas, who is slicing through the corrupted beasts with ease. He meets his eye and nods; Jonas gives him a small smile and nods back before turning his attention back to the fight. 

Siora, Ben and Lowri are treating injuries further up the volcano. Seeing how he’s moving, Siora rushes over. “You need help.” 

“I do not,” he says, brushing her off. 

“And if any of the beasts try to attack as you make your way to De Sardet? You can’t do everything. I know how to kill them now; I’m coming with you.” She raises her voice so Ben and Lowri can hear her. “I’m leaving to help Uncle Vasco. Stay here!”

He curses. He hadn’t wanted to put her or Bladnid at risk. “Stay out of the fray,” he says firmly. “Clear any creatures that decide to engage with us but no more.” 

Siora gives her the same innocent smile his Siora used to give before completely ignoring whatever he told her. “Of course.” 

“You’re more like your aunt than I thought,”  
he grumbles as they make their way up to the heart. 

De Sardet is fighting a small group of islanders and has the upper hand. “No! He’s mine!” He shouts, running towards the man who looks almost pleased to see him. 

“Ah, the pathetic Naut has downed his love and has returned to fail again,” De Sardet taunts. “You cannot beat me.” 

Before he makes it to De Sardet, blinding pain stops him in his tracks, leaving him unable to breathe or move his muscles. He falls to the ground. Lightning. It wanes just briefly enough for him to look and see Constantin. Unlike De Sardet, Constantin wears the armour of the Congregation. It is pristine but aged - likely the same armour he wore during the battle 25 years ago. 

He gasps, trying to get air into his lungs but he still cannot move his limbs and his heart is racing. 

“Shall we see how long he endures, my lucky star?” 

De Sardet doesn’t respond and the pain returns. He fights against it, trying to force his muscles to move so he can break free and retreat until Constantin has been dealt with but they will not respond. The man means to torture him to death. 

Seconds feel like hours and he’d scream if he were able to move. Finally he hears De Sardet chide Constantin in a manner that would be more appropriate if he’d just left a towel on the floor. “Darling, that is enough. We agreed I’d handle the Naut if he survived this long.” It stops for a few, brief seconds and he sees Siora, crouched down and ready to strike. 

No. He’d told her not to. De Sardet will kill her. But if he screams for her and reveals her position she is dead as well. “Run, Siora. Leave me,” he pleads under his breath. Perhaps he could handle another failure if it means she lives. 

She can’t hear him and even if she could, she wouldn’t listen. Quiet as a mouse she runs and stabs Constantin under the arm and through to his heart, where his body remains unprotected, just as he’d taught her. Blood sprays all over her face and coat before Constantin collapses, his body twitching, blood pouring out of the wound. “Siora, go!” He shouts, standing up, despite the agony in all of his limbs and the blistering burns on his torso where the lightning made its direct hit, hoping De Sardet goes for him instead of her. 

“Darling!” De Sardet shouts in a tone more pained, more human than he’s ever heard him sound. “Constantin!” 

Vines shoot out of the ground, flying towards Siora and he watches in horror, knowing he’s failed his niece too. Siora’s eyes are wide with terror; her feet frozen in place. “I’m sorry, little Siora. I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers. 

Only... they don’t hit their mark. A wall of vines appears in front of her; a shield, and De Sardet’s spell is deflected. Aidan, hidden behind several large boulders, cast a spell that saved his daughter’s life, knowing what it would cost in return. De Sardet turns to the _Doneigad_ and extends his hand in concentration. 

“Cair to, Siora. Tell Bladnid and _Màtir_ cair to,” Aidan calls out before downing the vial of poison he’d been holding in his hand, dropping to the ground seconds later. 

Over his long life he’s seen and heard many things he’d sooner forget. But Siora’s pained scream is amongst the worst. He runs to her, covering her from De Sardet, who is walking towards them. “Listen to me; you need to run now. Don’t look back - go!” 

“He took _Tad_ from us! Let me help you, please, Uncle Vasco; I need to avenge my father,” she pleads as tears run down her face. 

His hands rest on her upper arms. “You need to live. Remember? The world needs you. Your _tad_ saved you. Don’t let it be in vain. Go, please.” Luckily she listens, gives him a tearful nod and flees down the mountain and away from De Sardet’s reach. 

He holds his sword in hand and makes his way towards De Sardet. “Just you and me, jackass. I meant to kill you 25 years ago and I will not fail again.” 

De Sardet’s laugh is cruel but he sees that his face is blotchy and stained with tears. The loss of his lover will make him sloppy in the fight that is to come. “You’re an old man and I am an immortal god. I’ll run you through and you’ll die here, and then I will go and find your little niece and I will kill her too.” The man’s blade is drawn and he strikes; Vasco parries it with effort; his limbs aching and weak from Constantin’s torture just minutes ago. “It won’t be a quick death; not after what she did to Constantin!” He snarls. “Tell me,” Vasco lunges and De Sardet pivots out of the way, “is she a good fuck? She looks just like the woman you loved,” De Sardet says tauntingly; an attempt to throw him off. 

It doesn’t work. 

He trips De Sardet and his attack nearly hits its mark; the man rolls away just in time. “I don’t lay with my family. I’m not _you_. My nieces are more than you’ll ever be.” 

And so they fight as man and beast fight to the death around them. Bodies of corrupted creatures litter the ground next to the bodies of those who sacrificed themselves to free their home from the imposters. 

He can’t do this for long; De Sardet was right about one thing: he’s older and very much mortal. So he closes in for the kill, knowing he gets one chance at this. 

De Sardet’s blade runs through his abdomen and he grunts in pain. The man laughs cruelly. “And you thought you could beat me,” he says, pulling his blade out of him in a fluid motion, his blood dripping off it as he does so. 

“Wasn’t trying to win,” he says, every word coming out of his mouth taking great effort. He holds one hand to his stomach and points with the other to the dagger lodged in De Sardet’s lung. “Better run to your man before you suffocate,” he taunts. 

The cruel grin on the man’s face disappears, making way for terror as he drops his sword, pulls out the knife and runs to Constantin, who lays dead or dying one hundred metres away. De Sardet lies on top of him, clinging to his lover in his final moments. Blood pours out of the wound he was dealt with every heartbeat; if suffocation doesn’t take him first, blood loss will. There will be no surviving this and for the first time in 25 years, he feels as if he has done something right. Something good. 

In the decades after the last battle he always imagined watching De Sardet die. Seeing the life leave his eyes as his lips turn blue. But that is not what he wants. Instead he crawls, holding his hand tightly against the mortal wound he was dealt as blood spills out of him, making his way to what remains of his _minundhanem_. By the time he’s at her side, the inky black of the malichor has drained from the _nadaig Frasamen_ , revealing that, now that the imposters have fallen, the guardians return to what they once were. 

He rests his head beside the head of the guardian, his breath coming in short gasps, hot blood flowing from his wound onto the ground around him, mixing with the black blood of the imposters’ corrupted army. It won’t be long now. To his surprise the _nadaig’s_ eyes open and there’s a glimmer of recognition in them. Siora’s eyes. He reaches and rests his hand on an antler. 

“ _Minundhanem,_ he murmurs. “You are free, my dear. I am sorry it took me so long. _Cair to_.”

“Uncle Vasco!” Siora runs over to him and kneels on the ground, adding her hands to the pressure on his abdomen and he groans in pain. “Lowri! We need help!” She shouts, her voice panicked. 

“No, Siora. There’s no saving me. It won’t be long now,” he says, with difficulty between gasps for air. His vision is clouding and his head spinning. 

“She can try; please don’t go. I don’t want to lose you too,” Siora weeps, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek, a gesture he reciprocates with great effort. 

“It’s fine; I want this. To be with my _minundhanem_.” 

Bladnid falls to her knees; he can hear but not see her. “Uncle Vasco...” Briefly he hears the sound of her rummaging through her pockets before it stops and he feels her hand rest on his arm. 

“The Nauts and Natives are in good hands with you two.” He gasps but no air enters his lungs; something that should worry him but instead brings only a sense of peace. It doesn’t hurt anymore. 

“Go to her,” Bladnid says. “You saved us all. Thank you.” 

“I love you Uncle Vasco. I’ll never forget what you taught me,” Siora says and the world goes silent as his body shuts down further. 

The breath of the _nadaig’s_ final exhale hits his face and with that he lets go to follow his love into death.


	12. Return to the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco is laid to rest and Siora returns to sea.

They’ve won but the cost was great. The bodies of her people - both islanders and Nauts litter the ground, as well as the corpses of hundreds of creatures and several _nadaig_. Her and Bladnid sit with Uncle Vasco. 

_Màtir_ carries _Tad’s_ body over to them and puts him down on the ground before collapsing next to him, weeping into his chest. The sight of her mother’s raw grief is just too much. Her and Bladnid drape themselves around _Màtir_ and together they cry for those they’ve lost. 

“I need to give a speech. And we must send a runner,” _Màtir_ says, wiping her eyes and standing up, becoming every bit the stoic woman she is once more. 

A crowd gathers and _Màtir’s_ voice is powerful and unwavering. “We won today, thanks to the sacrifices everyone here made. We are free. Our children are free and will soon be able to bind themselves to the island and its true god, En on mil Frichtimen. This is because of you! All of you!” 

The crowd falls to its knees, and there are murmurs. “Long live our High Queen!” someone shouts and her and Bladnid look at one another before dropping to their knees in honour of their mother. 

“I will serve my people as best I can. There is much still to be done to repair the damage caused by the imposters but we will stand tall once more.” 

Normally there’s an election. A proper process. But _Màtir’s_ achievement is so great that there could be no other High Queen. 

The three of them sit by a fire after helping to bring the bodies of those lost in the battle together. Everyone waits but she does not know what for. She asks _Màtir_. “En on mil Frichtimen will arrive and it is my job to be there as he returns to the earth.” 

As she watches the fire she thinks of her _Tad_ , Uncle Vasco and Auntie Siora. She insisted Uncle Vasco’s body remain with the _nadaig Frasamen_ his _minundhanem_ became. “It’s what he would have wanted and he told me to decide how to deal with... this,” she says to _Màtir_. 

“What will you do with Uncle Vasco’s body? He’s a Naut and I don’t know the rituals,” Bladnid says. 

She does but she doesn’t think a Naut ceremony is what he would want. While it was never discussed, his shame when it comes to his status as a Naut was always evident. When she thinks of how he defined himself, it’s as Auntie Siora’s _minundhanem_ and as her and Bladnid’s uncle. “We will follow our traditions and lay him to rest with Auntie Siora.” 

“You and I can do the ritual after we do _Tad’s_ ceremony,” Bladnid says, her voice breaking. 

***

An elderly woman slowly limps up the volcano towards the heart. She carries a pot containing a large tree sapling. _Màtir_ gasps and falls to her knees as the woman approaches. She looks at Bladnid who shrugs and they both kneel as well. 

The woman places the sapling on the ground in front of _Màtir_. “My Queen,” the woman says and looks as if she is attempting to kneel but _Màtir_ stops her, taking her arm gently. 

“That is unnecessary, Slàn. Being in your presence honours me.” 

“En on mil Frichtimen knows of the imposters’ defeat and is ready to return home. As High Queen, it is your duty to bring him to the heart,” the woman - Slàn, says. 

“Would you join me?” 

“That would be a grave breach in tradition. I am not High Queen and am unworthy of an audience with him!” Slàn stammers.

 _Màtir_ disagrees with Slàn. “There are no traditions that exist for what we are to do. You walked through the ruins, and cleared the rubble in order to obtain the seeds from En on mil Frichtimen’s remains. And then you hid for 25 years, nurturing him in this pot so the imposters never knew he still lived. You, above all others, deserve the honour of an audience with him.”

Slàn looks emotional and takes a deep breath. “You offer me a true honour and I am glad to accept.” 

Bladnid pokes her arm. “Did you know?” 

“Uncle Vasco figured it out. Read between the lines of things I told him our parents had said to us.” 

_Màtir_ is gone for a long time but she feels the magic in the air shift. No longer does it feel wrong or off; for the first time in her life the island is as it should be. “You’ll be able to be bound to the island,” she tells Bladnid. 

“But it won’t be _Tad_ doing it.” For a few brief moments she’d forgotten that her father died to save her life. Bladnid looks over at her, evidently realizing this is what she’s thinking of. “Don’t blame yourself. None of us do. If you hadn’t killed the imposter god then _Tad_ would have and would not have survived it.” 

When _Màtir_ returns, her face is a mix of joy and terrible sadness. “En on mil Frichtimen has returned. We must go home and see that our family is laid to rest.” She turns to Bladnid. “Slàn will see to your bonding in a few weeks. She will be needed in many villages over the next few months.” 

Home. Not the Doneia Esgregaw camp, but Vedrhais. The village they’ve only been to a few times in their life. It will be strange to return on leave and find her family in the same place every time. 

***

One of the tasks involved in preparing a body is washing it with the mortuary oils. She prepares them personally before her and Bladnid carry Uncle Vasco’s body to the sacred place of her people. The same place her maternal grandparents’ ceremonies occurred. And where _Tad’s_ ceremony took place yesterday. They lay him upon the altar and she pauses, feeling overwhelmed.

 _Màtir_ is struggling after losing her _minundhanem_. Were circumstances different she would be here but she told them that it is appropriate that it is the two of them laying Uncle Vasco to rest. “He adored you both. Send him to Siora.” 

Bladnid unbuttons his coat and removes it gently, folding it and placing it on the floor. His hat follows and then his shirt and breeches. As she sees the mortal wound through his torso and the horrible burns from Constantin’s lightning she cries out in shock and grief before Bladnid covers them with a blanket. “I will clean and close his wounds, Siora. You do not need to look at them again.” 

“He suffered. He fought and killed De Sardet and he was in that state. I can’t even imagine...” 

“It was what he wanted, in the end. His death was peaceful. Take comfort in that.” 

Grabbing a cloth, she pours some of the oil onto it and begins washing his body. Bladnid joins her and they work in silence. The cloth brushes over his chest and she glances at a faded tattoo over his heart. What looks to be the writing of the _doneigada_. “Bladnid? Can you read this?” 

While she learned the language, Bladnid was always better at reading and writing it. She looks over at it briefly and her eyes go wide. “ _Minundhanem_ ,” Bladnid whispers. 

Auntie Siora tattooed him. That’s the only explanation. She grips the altar as tears roll down her face. “A promise. One that will last forever because it was carved into his flesh.” 

Bladnid nods, only now realizing the significance of it. 

“He never told me about it. Or about any of his tattoos. There are so many stories on his body that I’ll never know because he died before he could share them.” 

“You never asked?” 

She shakes her head. “Nauts don’t ask about the tattoos on another Naut’s body unless the meaning is shared freely. Many tell stories the wearer would rather keep private. But we all know what the tattoos on one’s face mean.” 

“What do his mean?” 

She points at them, one-by-one, recognizing that this might technically be a Naut secret but knowing her sister wouldn’t ever tell another. “He’s Sea Given. That’s his rank - Captain. He sailed through a hurricane as a sailor. He completed a task deemed worthy of a high honour at one point. And he made several voyages without losing a single man.” 

“That he died a hero isn’t on his body. Should it be?” 

There’s one specific Naut tradition she intends to follow and she has the materials in her bag. “He will receive his final tattoo and it will properly recognize his accomplishment,” she says. 

They finish tending to his wounds, washing his body and Bladnid lights the censers. Siora grabs the tattoo needle and ink. “I’d ask that you keep this part to yourself.” 

“That goes without saying. We do not discuss anything that occurs here.” 

For awhile she thinks of how to best mark his final achievement. Where is obvious to her - he never tattooed his right bicep. She picks up the needle and gets to work, suddenly grateful for the years spent drawing plants in the woods. Bladnid watches silently as she spends hours meticulously tattooing his arm. 

Uncle Vasco killed De Sardet, one of the imposter gods, leading to the return of En on mil Frichtimen. So a tree, standing proudly in the ground is tattooed on his arm; a final acknowledgement of his heroism and sacrifice. 

“Thank you for saving us, Uncle Vasco,” she whispers. 

When the ceremony is finished they carry his body out into the grove where the remains of the _nadaig Frasamen_ who was once her Auntie Siora were interred and they are reunited in death, both physically and spiritually. 

***

The day before she leaves for the coast and her ship, Bladnid is bonded to the island. She watches with great pride as her twin sister becomes what she has trained for her entire life. While it’s a bittersweet affair, Bladnid is all smiles during the ceremony. 

“The first of many steps to becoming High Queen, Bladnid,” she says, giving her sister a hug. 

“I’m not so sure I’ll ever be High Queen. And if I am, that will be many years from now.” 

“Uncle Vasco predicted it. He told me you would be High Queen and I would be the first Native Admiral and everyone would know who Eseld’s daughters are.” 

“And what’s your next step to becoming an admiral?” 

“Need to make captain first. Have a lot of hard work ahead of me but I love life at sea. When I was first sent to the Nauts I wasn’t sure I would but it’s home now.” 

With Vasco’s sword at her hip and his tricorne on her head, she hugs _Màtir_ and Bladnid before making her way to her other home. The sea. 

With the nations on Gacane in ruins, the Natives will likely become the strongest allies of the Nauts within her and Bladnid’s lifetime. As she walks, she imagines being the Admiral of Tír Fradí and working closely alongside her sister, the High Queen, for the benefit of both of her peoples. 

Captain Jonas and Ben are at the beach building new boats when she arrives. “Is it just us?” She asks the captain as Ben approaches her and gives her a hug. 

“A few others have sent messengers - they are wounded and recovering in their home villages. It could be another three weeks before we depart.” Jonas drops his hammer and looks at her. “I’m short a first officer; Caren was lost in the battle. Job is yours if you want it.” 

“Really? I’ve only been a Naut for five years - surely someone with more experience...” 

Jonas interrupts her. “You’ve got the character for it. I can teach you the job but I can’t teach character. Besides, I think I’d rather like working alongside the protege of Captain Vasco. That man knew how to pick out talent.” 

Her uncle saw something in her and made sure everyone else did too. In the six months she knew him he trained her, setting her on this path. “I’d be honoured, Captain. And... you know, Uncle Vasco would have hated that you called him Captain just now.” 

Captain Jonas gives her a sad smile. “Were he here to give me grief about it I’d gladly change my way. But he’s not and I’ll give that man the respect he deserves, even if he did not feel worthy of it. I’m... sorry for your loss. You two were close. There’s one more thing.” 

She looks up at him with questioning eyes. 

“Vasco trained you. But he never got to finish the job. He gave me a rundown of where you’re at and that you’re real stealthy. When I was a lad he taught me how to fight. Our lessons start tomorrow. Can’t have my first officer unable to hold her own in a fight.” 

She picks up a hammer and starts helping him out with the boat he’s building because otherwise she will burst into tears. That Uncle Vasco found someone who would finish her training touches her. 

“I only knew him for six months but in that time I received a lifetime of lessons. I will be glad to learn from his former pupil.” 

Jonas wanders over to grab some more wood from a nearby pile, carrying it back to where they are working. “I remember when he was promoted to Captain. The previous captain had been an idiot and sailed too close to a hurricane in an effort to save time. And, when it became clear we’d have to go through it, he went below deck and refused to take responsibility. So Captain Vasco stood up and started giving orders. Spent 17 hours out on the deck tied to a line, working his ass off to keep the ship in one piece. I was just a cabin boy at the time but I knew then that he was what I wanted to be. Never known a more heroic man.” 

Sailing through a hurricane. One of his tattoos. He’d never told her the story. “That sounds like him. Do you have any more stories about him?” 

“Loads. I’ll try to track down some of the crew of the Sea Horse for you. They’ll all have things they can tell you. Like the time our quartermaster threatened to tie him to the bed. Gustavo doubled as our medic and Vasco was trying to work on a sprained ankle. Apparently he was a real pain when in need of first aid.” 

She laughs. “He was. We fought a _nadaig_ and he broke several ribs in the process and tried to convince my father he was fine to go without treatment. My father won in the end but he was a stubborn one.” 

She’ll never know him as well as she would have liked. But the chance to learn about his life means so much. 

“We’re heading back to our island, and with some luck the admirals won’t have my head!” Captain Jonas says to the crew as they depart towards the open ocean three weeks later. “If they ask, we happened upon the fight and absolutely did not plan this at all.” 

“Yeah, Captain; your all-Native crew just got lucky and found a fight!” Ben shouts sarcastically. 

Captain Jonas ignores the sarcasm and points at Ben with enthusiasm. “That’s right! Follow Ben’s example! Now practice that line and make it sound realistic!” He approaches her. “Weather is looking clear - set a course for us, First Officer Siora.” 

There’s a pleasant breeze in the air and sea spray in her lungs. Siora is home and taking the first steps on her journey to becoming an admiral. “Right away, Captain!”


End file.
